In the Fog
by Lord Yellowtail
Summary: Futurefic. Bubbles is eight, and trapped in Townsville, her family gone. She spends her days in a deadly battle of wills and endurance with Him. She remembers when the world was full of color, and then when red dusk covered all. Now, there's only fog.
1. Pulse of the City

AN: Set roughly three years after the series, making Bubbles eight. Bubbles special powers, in canon, include the Sonic Scream and the ability to process any language and communicate with animals. I own nothing, of course. Enjoy.

Bubbles gazed up into the sky. All she saw--all she ever saw anymore, no matter where she looked--was grey. She tried not to think about it. Once, she could see for hundreds of miles, and now … now … she thought about something her Daddy had said, about pulling the wool over someone's eyes. That was about right. She knew the world and all the beautiful colors she loved so much were _right there_, even if Him had trapped her in this endless mist. On her good days, it gave her hope: in spite of everything she had kept Townsville in one mostly whole, vibrant piece. On days that, well, weren't so nice, she cursed her perfect memory, in all its full color glory, for reminding her what she'd lost. Even if--_when, __**when**_--she got Daddy and her sisters back, she knew her father wouldn't be able to fix her. Her instincts had told her as much, that she had to learn to deal 'cause this was it. And when she listened to them, really listened, her instincts were never wrong.

Her world was all about listening now.

But even if she couldn't see it, she knew how Townsville looked. She had lived and fought in red, cloudless, constant dusk for months before Him had taken it all away on her birthday, the one day when she had dared to let herself be completely happy, if only for a little while. No sun, just a shimmering pink pink-red mist that despite her best efforts, kept them sealed in, and the world locked out.

Eighteen months since Blossom, Buttercup, and the Professor--Daddy--had disappeared. At first, she had assumed the demon had finally bored of playing, and decided to turn Townsville into hell on earth. Bubbles sighed, shaking her head slightly. _Hell? Before all this, I woulda been so embarrassed to even think that kinda word, even if I'm not gonna say it._ She shrugged. _But it's not like I'm just goin' around cursin' up a blue streak. Hehe. I made a funny._

But that notion had only stayed with her a few days. If this was supposed to be hell, why had Him made sure they had running water, and electricity, and kept the stores stocked with food and the hospitals with medicine? It had taken her several months to figure it out. _We're his toys, and he takes good care of his playthings._ She sighed. _'Cept, I'm the only thing he's interested in. Everyone else is just someone to threaten to get my attention._ She screwed her eyes shut. The world was still just as grey. _Bait. But what does he get from all this? I don't understand..._ For a year and a half he'd sent monsters against the town, nastier and more dangerous than anything he'd ever conjured before he had banished Blossom and Buttercup.

Then again, she had changed, too. She couldn't match the beasts' viciousness, even when she tried. Anger actually made her more sloppy, weaker, more likely to let someone else be injured. She wasn't like Buttercup. She couldn't be that mean, even to monsters. Careful planning, like Blossom would have done, was never an option. She never had that kind of time, and her mind didn't really work that way. But that didn't mean she didn't figure out a way to be strong enough. It had been so obvious, but she could have never figured it out when Blossom and Buttercup were still with her, coddling her or trying to mould her into the kind of hero they thought she should be.

Sometimes, even though she tried not to think about it, Bubbles wondered what Blossom and Buttercup would think if they could see her now. _I'm supposed to be the sweet, happy one._ She very carefully never thought of what their father would say. Not that she wasn't still happy, when she felt safe, but it was getting harder. As long as she was in this town, with Him sending his little pets, she would never really be safe. None of them would. And she was stronger and faster now, but she wasn't stupid: she wasn't ever gonna give up, but she couldn't keep this up forever. Not without more people getting hurt.

The monsters Him used now, they weren't like the old ones, they--he sent them at random, for no other purpose but to terrorize. Sometimes once a day, sometimes once a week. From Christmas Eve to New Years, one every hour, more vicious than the last. And they could hurt her so easily, she nearly forgot she was supposed to be invulnerable. Had he always been so powerful, and just toyed with them before? Bubbles wasn't sure she really wanted to know. She had nearly died too many times, and too many other people had suffered.

_Enough, Bubbles. You're...what did Mayor Bellum call it? Brooding. Yeah. Lunch'll be over in twenty minutes. Gotta get back to school soon._ She sighed. She wished she could go back to Pokey Oaks. She always felt safe there. But she was a big girl now, and big girls went to elementary school, with mean ol' Mr Krachett, who seemed to hate having her in his class, no matter how good she was. _Already done a patrol. Still, I should probably double check, just in case._

Bubbles took a deep breath and shut her eyes, not that it made any difference, and reached out with her ears like she never would have guessed she could when she still had her eyes. The city flooded into her brain, all its screeching, beeping, scraping, pounding, clanking, tinkling, laughing, talking, and a million other sounds music to her ears. Years ago, she might have felt overwhelmed by it all, but not anymore. It wasn't anything like being able to see the beautiful colors, but she was _connected_ to the whole city, and that was almost as good. Slowly, she began filtering out the sounds she didn't need and pushing them to the back of her mind and down, just like the blind or near-blind animals at the zoo, who had to rely on the sounds just like she did, had taught her. And those blind spiders in the Insect House who had helped her learn to focus on the details of every vibration. She couldn't forget them either. _And to think I useta be so scared of bugs. Daddy was right. They're so clever, and have so much to teach. Even roaches. Yuck._

She could have filtered the noise quicker, could do it in an instant when she really had to. But she was in no hurry, so she started slowly. First, the noise of cars in perfect working order, the gentle hum of Townsville's electricity grid, and the sound of almost five-hundred thousand calm, healthy heartbeats, and nearly as many deep, full breaths, though too many people for her liking were sick and didn't have hearts or lungs that sounded quite right. But that was natural, her mother had said, and there wasn't anything she could do about it. She gathered them all up in her mind and pushed them down till they were just a gentle buzzing in the back of her head. The same gentle buzz that was with her always now, after months and months of practice. Doctor Stevens said it was like she had her finger to Townsville's pulse. It sounded kinda cool, when he said it like that.

Carefully, she found all the other noises that didn't need her attention and likewise gently pushed them away--not so far that she wouldn't notice if they needed her, but just enough that she could focus on other things. She ghosted over conversations, trying not to pry but wanting to make sure she heard any calls for help. All the while, she kept her mind alert for sirens, screams, guns being cocked or knives being drawn, the whooshing noise of something falling from a great height, or any of so many other warning sounds she had learned to recognize without thinking.

Bubbles stopped sifting suddenly, a wailing cry filling the space between her ears. _Baby? What's wrong?_ She tensed, focusing in as her animal friends had taught her. She relaxed again as she found the baby's strong, rhythmic heartbeat, heard the whoosh-whoosh of blood in its veins, and the suckle of air as it filled up its lungs for another wail that was just a hair away from hurting her ears. All normal baby sounds. She pulled her awareness just slightly away from the baby and heard a woman's voice, gently cooing. _"Mommy's here, Timmy. Don't cry now. Stephie didn't mean to spill those green beans all over your head. Shh...Shh…"_ Bubbles smiled, then focused for a few moments, quickly finding all the other healthy, safe babies crying about a million completely harmless things, and pushing them all down to join the bees in their hives, the cars on the streets, and the teenagers kissing and ripping at their clothes (_Ew. Why do they do that?),_ and everything else that was like it was supposed to be. A few more minutes of careful listening and sifting told her everything was basically okay, for the moment. Not that it would stay that way. It never stayed that way.

Still, before she flew back to school, she decided it wouldn't hurt to check up on a few people in particular. She was kinda in a funk today, even if she didn't wanna admit it, and listening to them might make her feel better. She concentrated, and this time it took less than a second to start finding the heartbeats she wanted…

To the north: strong, but deliberate and calm, just like the rest of her. Mayor Bellum. Bubbles listened for a moment more, and heard her long, thick hair slide against her suit jacket as she rolled the cricks out of her neck and sighed, a paper crinkling on her desk as she wrote something down…

Westward, at MacIntire Elementary, a heartbeat surrounded by the sounds of the cafeteria at lunchtime. Slower and maybe a little weaker than it had been before Him took Bubbles' family away, but still healthy and strong. Bubbles frowned. Robin just couldn't get as much exercise as she used to. She listened longer, and Robin laughed as Bubbles heard the sound of metal sliding against oiled metal as rubber wheels rolled against sticky linoleum, Robin's fingers sliding over the handrims on her chair, looking for the best grip. She was laughing and talking to someone, so Bubbles smiled slightly, even as she wiped at the moisture gathering at the corners of her eyes.

Robin's heartbeat had been the first Bubbles learned after Mommy's, and she could still remember what it was like then. Strong and fast, almost beating in time with her laughter somehow, even faster when they would play during recess. Bubbles still remembered the way her feet fell when she ran, too. Quick and nimble, but always confident in where they were landing. _Clop-clop-__**clop-clop**__..._ Bubbles always thought Robin would have been good at ballet or tap or basketball or something else that needed quick reflexes and sure feet, if … well. Bubbles hadn't been quite as good with her ears, then, and it had taken her longer to react than it should have when the bear-monster-thing had thrown that car. She had caught it before her friend had taken its full, crushing weight, but it was enough. Bubbles cringed at the memory of the crunching noise, and the way Robin had screamed…

Robin's father had long since forgiven her, and Robin was never angry, but her mother--Bubbles supposed she couldn't really blame her. She had failed them.

She sighed again and rubbed at her nose. So much for making herself feel better. Maybe if she asked, she could go see Doctor Stevens early this week. She was having too many not-nice days lately.

Bubbles was distracted from her thoughts as a new noise caught her attention: something growling, and big, underground and digging, digging, digging towards the surface. With--she was too far away to figure out how many of whatever kind of arms it had, but definitely more than two. She stood quickly. _Where? Southeast…_ In less than a heartbeat she had it, and it felt like that time Buttercup had dumped her in the water at the North Pole. _No!_ She was flying before she realized it, calling for more and more speed until all the sounds started to garble and bend. _Sound barrier. Can't go any faster, or I really will be blind._ As fast as she was going, from the top of the bank clock tower to Pokey Oaks would only take a few seconds. _Holdonholdonholdon--_

Far away but growing closer, dirt and concrete exploded upwards with a deep growl and a snapping of … things. _"Children! Everyone inside! Now! Hurry, down to the basement, quick--"_ A crunch, and a scream, and two dozen other, smaller, younger screams, slamming doors, and the next heartbeat she had been about to look for thudding madly in panic as a muffled wail reached her ears.

Bubbles flew just a little bit faster, not even caring that the world itself was starting to flicker in and out of existence around her. "_Mommy!_"

* * *

_***_

Sandra Keene bit her tongue to keep from screaming again as she pulled herself to a sitting position against a tree, and only let up when she started to taste blood. She took a deep breath and did her best to ignore the burning in her leg where the creature had struck her. She tried to move further away from the … the thing that had thrown her across the schoolyard, but that just made her leg feel worse and white flashes dance across her vision, so she forced herself to go limp. _Can't pass out._ She took more deep breaths, and concentrated on trying to think past the pain. But she didn't think it was working. Black haze gathered at the edge of her already blurred vision. _Oh, God._ She saw the creature out of the corner of her eye, and forced herself to turn and concentrate on it, if only to keep herself awake. It was a dumb one, still busy taking apart the extra shiny parts of the playground that had distracted it, but that wouldn't last long. She tried to open her mouth to call for help, but clamped her jaw shut when she felt another scream starting to build in her throat. She couldn't draw the thing's attention again, or she would die. And she couldn't do that to Bubbles. _Promised I wouldn't leave her alone._ Another shuddering breath. _At least the kids got downstairs. Really wish I hadn't dropped my cellphone when it threw me._

It was big, at least as tall as the school, and red like rotten strawberries and dried blood. If it stopped moving, she was sure it would blend perfectly into the blood red dusk. It was an octopus out of a Dr Seuss nightmare: mouthful of glistening fangs, rows and rows; each of its eight waving arms tentacles capped with a claw at least as large as Sandra herself. It had one huge, lidless eye, the iris a putrid yellow. Sandra gasped as it seemed to grow bored, and turned its attention towards the school. Sandra's fogged mind suddenly cleared, adrenaline flooding her brain--she had children to protect. _Building's not strong enough to keep it away from the kids...not if it's strong enough to hurt Bubbles. They always are._ "B-Bubbles, honey," she managed to whisper, finally finding her voice as urgency muffled the pain. "Hel--"

A powder blue streak shot across the sky, curving down towards her. Sandra felt herself smile. She and her students were safe now. The blue streak of light flew past her, and the sound of flesh hitting flesh rattled her bones as the octopus-thing went flying, not stopping until it impaled itself on the remains of the jungle gym with a _sclop_ that made her stomach lurch unpleasantly, its single eye growing dim. It didn't move again, at least not before Bubbles filled her vision, kneeling in front of her with a worried frown on her face, tears leaking out from flat, grey, empty eyes. "M-Mommy? I heard you scream…"

Sandra took another deep breath before answering. Her Bubbles had grown up a lot since kindergarten, and she couldn't be prouder, but--_God, why did it have to be like this? _Sandra forced herself to check Bubbles over for injuries, finding nothing: not a single rip on her blue jeans or drop of blood on her white sneakers, or even a smudge of dirt on her powder blue shirt. Sandra smiled slightly; the shirt was Bubbles favorite, _"'cause it's _Hello, Kitty_, Mommy. Even if I can't see her."_ Her blonde hair hung in a messy ponytail, held in place with the only one of Blossom's bows they had managed to recover from John Utonium's house after Him had demolished the place, singed and frayed but otherwise in one piece, even after all this time. The remains of Buttercup's sea green security blanket, stained and more like the skin of a rotted lime now, hung tied around her neck. Sandra tried not to think about how much of Bubbles' blood and various bits of monster goo was trapped in those stains. But her little angel refused to part with it, and Sandra couldn't bring herself to make her. Sandra forced herself to look away, her eyes falling on Bubbles' hands, navy blue fingerless gloves not hiding the dozens of little knicks marring her fingers. The half-dozen bigger hair's-breadth marks on her forearms stood out against her pale skin. She wanted to look away, but it wouldn't have made any difference; Sandra knew where every mark was, anyway. Even the ones no one else knew about. The last Powerpuff Girl wasn't vain, but she did her best to make Townsville think she was invincible, even if everybody knew better and just didn't want to admit it. _Oh, Bubbles. I'm so sorry. For everything._

* * *

***

"M-Mommy? I heard you scream…" Bubbles heard her adopted parent take a deep, shuddering breath, and turned her ears fully onto her, listening carefully. Her lungs sounded fine: no escaping air or fluid that wasn't supposed to be there. She couldn't hear anything else that sounded like it was leaking either. Her heartbeat had already started to slow to something more normal and less alarming, no longer reminding Bubbles of the way Mr. Mayor's had thundered and spasmed when a heart attack took him away from them. She had held his hand when he left, unable to do anything but listen… Bubbles heard fingers clenching and unclenching, and reached down, smiling when a petite hand, still larger than her own, took hers, wound their fingers together, and squeezed. She breathed a sigh of relief as Mommy took in several slow, calming breaths and her pulse slowed down, still too high, and focused in on her heart. The _whoosh-slosh-whoosh_ of blood pumping out from the left ventra--ventre--big important tube thing, then to the aorta, and on to the rest of her body sounded like it had when the doctors gave her tapes of healthy people's hearts so she could recognize them.

Bubbles focused on all those veins and arteries and little tiny blood vessels, listening for clogs or leaks or anything else that sounded wrong, and frowned at the way the flow turned messy and confused below Mommy's left knee. It didn't sound like all of it was flowing back towards her heart the way it was supposed to, like some of it was getting stuck somewhere, or--she finally made out the drip-drip-drip she had missed before--that she shouldn't have missed--but it was hard to concentrate 'cause this was Mommy and Mommy wasn't ever supposed to get hurt, _ever_. Bleeding. She was bleeding. "I'm fine, honey," Mommy whispered. "I just hurt--"

"Your leg," Bubbles whimpered. "It's bleeding and cracked or fractured or," Mommy twitched from her head to her toes, the way people twitched when they were really hurt and trying not to show it, and Bubbles' eyes widened at the sound of bone grinding against bone as Mommy bit her lip and swallowed back a scream, "b-broken." Bubbles took a deep, calming breath of her own as Mommy squeezed her hand again, and forced herself to relax as much as she could, digging in her pocket for her cell phone. "I'll call an ambulance, and tear off some of my shirt so we can stop the blood. C-can't fly you like this," she murmured, pulling the little flip phone out, flipping it open and running her thumb over the braille keypad, looking for the nine. "They'll fix you."

Mommy pressed a clammy palm against her cheek, and Bubbles leaned into it, closing her eyes and grinning tightly. "It's okay, baby. I'll be f-fine. They'll patch me u-up in no time." Bubbles heard her smile, and smiled back as best she could. She didn't sound anywhere close to okay.

_**Sclurch--cliklikliklik….likliklik…**_ Faint. Too quiet for a human to hear. _On the jungle gym. Uh oh._

"Mommy?" she said, trying to sound calm and in control. "Can … can you call the ambulance guys? The monster is knitting itself back together." _Aww...I really don't like the ones that can do that._

Mommy tensed up and took another deep breath, and when she spoke again she sounded more like herself. "What? Honey, are you sure? It looks pretty … um ... dead."

Bubbles nodded. "I can hear it."

"Da--well, alright, then. Let me … have your phone. Be careful, sweetie." Bubbles heard a ruffling of fabric as she put her phone down next to Mommy, and a hiss of pain, and realized her mother was using her jacket to try to stop the blood flowing from her leg.

Bubbles nodded. _Hafta make it quick. The ambulance can't come if the monster's still up and around._ She turned her ears downward, and heard all the kindergartners whimpering and whispering fearfully in the basement. _Can't let it fall on the school. It's too big._ She snapped her attention back up and forward, towards the monster, and frowned as she floated forward, balling her fists, shoving her emotions and the reluctance to hurt another living thing into a tight little ball behind her belly-button as best she could, just as she had done when she punched the creature into the jungle gym. Just as she had done in a thousand other fights since Him sealed her in and she learned how to be strong. Blossom and Buttercup had it easy. They both liked to fight. Bubbles hated it, but loved protecting people, and that wasn't really the same thing. Once she realized that was okay, that she didn't have to enjoy the fight the way her sisters did, things were so much easier.

She still felt just a little flare of anger--this thing had hurt Mommy--but she could deal with it, and it wouldn't get in her way.

Lots of long, narrow, wavy things (_tentacles?)_ that she hadn't really had the chance to examine before were busily untangling themselves from the gym, and something wet and slimy slid against groaning metal. _It's pulling itself off the bar I stuck it on. Aw, man._ A huge roar hit her like a tidal wave just as she heard Mommy start talking to someone on the phone. But she couldn't listen to that conversation right now. _Sounds mad. … That makes two of us._ Bubbles' frown deepened. _Time to get a clearer picture._ Bubbles gathered the biggest, deepest lungful of air she could, swallowed it down into her middle, and yelled, careful not turn everything in her Sonic Scream's path to rubble.

Her awareness warbled for a split second as the ultrasonic waves bounced back towards her and her head vibrated from her jaw up to her hairline and all the way to the base of her skull, like it was about to fall off her neck. She really didn't like having to do that. If she was a dolphin or a whale or a bat, she would have had the special squishy bits in her forehead that turned the sound into a crystal clear impression. What she got instead was muddled ripples in the grey that made her stomach sick if she concentrated on them long enough, but--

_Oh._ Bubbles tilted her head up, to where she knew the red sky was. "Betcha think that's real funny, don'tcha, Him. Giant evil Octi with pincers." She shook her head. "Fine." Bubbles cleared her throat. _If I beat on it or smash it, it'll just grow itself back together. Mommy and all the little kids don't have time for that, and I don't want this thing escaping and smashing its way across Townsville._ Bubbles gritted her teeth. _This is gonna hurt._

Bubbles blinked once, twice, then called the fire that always waited just behind her eyes, gritting her teeth as she almost instantly felt the burning, hot, _wrongness_ spreading from the bridge of her nose across her skull. The monster yowled, the sound of its body knitting itself back together overshadowed by sizzling and popping. _Burn it. Burn it away._ Bubbles focused on the knitting, moving her head and eyes towards wherever she heard it and holding her non-gaze there until only the smoldering pops and hisses of char-broiled monster flesh remained, swallowing hard against the pain and the scent of burning flesh and monster goo attacking her nose, both trying their best to make her toss her cookies. The concrete around the beast shattered, metal groaned and creaked and warped, and it really, really, really hurt.

Warm, thick, slippery wetness started flowing from her eyes, and Bubbles gulped, clenching her fists tighter and hoping the clicking noise of healing flesh would stop soon. She couldn't quit 'till she was sure the Octi-thing wasn't gonna grow itself back--she had learned that lesson with the giant fire-breathing panda bears that had knitted back together five times before she had figured out what to do--_Owie ow ow!_

And just as quickly, the clicking was gone. The monster was dead. _Really_ dead, this time. With some effort, Bubbles cut her eye-beams. It always felt like that time Mojo had burned her arm with that really big laser cannon, and the skin was all tight and stiff and didn't want to move. Another moment and the burning was gone, a dull throb in its place. She hoped it didn't last too long this time. She had a math test at two. "Gotcha," she whispered, the corner of her mouth twitching up just slightly. _Can't hurt anybody else now._ She ran her fingers through her hair and turned, flying quickly back to her mother. Mommy wasn't saying anything, just taking deep, slow breaths. Bubbles frowned. "Mommy? I … I got it. It's really dead now."

Mommy sighed, and from the sound of her voice Bubbles could tell she was looking off towards where the monster had been. "I can tell, baby," she whispered, sounding sad. Bubbles heard her hair rustling, and a sharp intake of breath. Mommy was looking at her again. She must have looked pretty messed up. "Oh, honey. Come here," Mommy whispered, voice tight.

Bubbles felt suddenly exhausted, which didn't make a lot of sense -- that monster had barely taken any effort at all to deal with -- and squatted down next to her mother, leaning into her side opposite her broken leg, which Bubbles was doing her very best not to listen to. Mommy pulled her around until Bubbles was leaning back against her shoulder, resting her head in the crook of her neck. She smelled like soap and honey perfume, and Bubbles felt a weight lift off her shoulders. "The ambulance and the police will be here soon. … Here. I have some tissues in my pocket. Hold still." And then Mommy pressed soft tissue to her cheeks and chin, wiping slowly and gently. After a few moments, she stopped. "All gone." Mommy kissed the top her head, and Bubbles felt a small grin cross her face. "Could you do me a favor?"

Bubbles sat up straighter and turned her face towards the voice. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Would you go check on the kids? They were very scared when I hustled them all into the basement. I'll bet you could distract them for a few minutes until the police show up. The authorities will lock down the school and call their parents, so you can get back to class."

Bubbles frowned. "But, I wanna go to the hospital with you! You can't go by yourself."

Hair rustling again -- Mommy shaking her head. "Honey, I don't want you missing more school than you have to, and you can come visit me just as soon as you're done. I'll be fine, I promise. And … I don't want you listening for me at the hospital, okay? I'll have to talk to the doctors and I want to do that in private."

After a moment, Bubbles nodded slowly. "Yes, ma'am." They would have to fix Mommy's leg and that would probably really hurt until they gave her lots of pain medicine, and Mommy didn't want her to hear that. And Bubbles didn't really like hospitals, anyway; they smelled like sickness and death and all the cleaning chemicals made her nose itch. Bubbles frowned again, until she had an idea. Even though the hospital didn't smell good, she knew something that did, and they would be pretty, too. Mr. Cloop down at the flower-shop would help her pick out something nice. Bubbles nodded to herself, feeling a little bit better, and decided to go check on the little kids. The less she thought about what had almost happened to Mommy, the better. _You'll haaaaaaave to think about it eveeeeeentually,_ a nasty little voice whispered in the back of her head. She repressed a shudder at Him's intrusion into her mind. _You can't protect them forever, little Bubbles. Someday, no matter whaaaaaat you do, one of them _will_ diiiiiiie. And the Mayor doesn't count, you know. It's hardly my fault he couldn't stand the heat._ Bubbles kept her face serene, but imagined gritting her teeth and growling at the presence in her mind. _I _can_ save them. I _will._ Watch me._ The slight pressure of Him's presence left her mind, and she breathed a sigh of relief, leaned over, and kissed Mommy on the temple, where her pulse beat loudly. "I'll be listening for you 'till the ambulance comes, so if you need me, just call. I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart. I'll see you soon." Bubbles nodded and flew, trying to pull a happy look onto her face, or at least something that wasn't sad or scary to look at. She didn't want to worry the kids she was supposed to be comforting.

* * *

***

Sandra watched Bubbles disappear into the building, and bit her lip, fighting back a sob. That would call her back in less than a second. She looked down at her lap, at the blood-soaked tissues she held in her hands, bright red against her own pale skin. No matter how many times Bubbles had to fall back to using her eye-beams, and no matter that Sandra knew using them couldn't really do any more permanent damage, she could hardly stand it, seeing Bubbles standing there not-staring at her with blood streaming her face. She wondered, a sudden flash of anger surging from her cheeks to her stomach, if Him had sent one of his self-healing monsters just to force her to use her eye-beams, knowing the pain they caused her now. She felt a sudden stab of hatred for the red demon, but pushed it down. Bubbles had told her negative emotions--hopelessness, despair, hate--made Him stronger, and she would be damned if she gave the beast an iota more power to use against Townsville and her adopted daughter. She tilted her head, looking up at the sky.

_Enjoy it while you can, Him. We won't be your little ant-farm forever. Bubbles and her sisters will beat you. Somehow. I know it. And in the meantime, we couldn't have a braver guardian._ Sandra shook her head softly. _I just pray I can keep her together until this is over. She was never meant to have to do this alone._ Sandra would never admit it aloud, but Him had broken Bubbles; the point of no return had come and gone on her birthday. Sandra shuddered at the memory. An image came to her mind, unbidden, of cake and balloons and weeping, terrified children, and Bubbles kneeling on the ground in front of Him, mewling and clutching her face as blood ran between her fingers. "_Haaaapy Birthdaaaaay, Bubbles._" Him had said, grinning, the remnants of his acid spray oozing between his teeth. Sandra shook her head sharply, banishing the images from her mind, though they would surely return in her nightmares. They always did.

What Him had certainly not counted on, what had surprised and awed them all, even if they should have known better than to think she would just crumble, was the way the girl had forced herself back together, learned to adapt. She wasn't quite the same, and never would be--Sandra really hoped John Utonium and her sisters would be able to accept that--but she was stronger, tougher, and less likely to give up than she had been before, even if she was a bit cracked and shattered around the edges. Sandra thought suddenly of Venus de Milo, beloved and cherished as much for its beauty as the fact it had survived the fates attempts to destroy it, even if it had been horribly scarred. Bubbles was their Venus: brilliant and beautiful in spite of all the broken places. Perhaps beautiful in part _because_ of them. But Sandra knew she couldn't be pushed much further without losing herself completely. _Professor Utonium--John--Blossom, Buttercup … I know you're out there, trying to get home. Hurry. She needs you._


	2. Snapshots: Bubbles on the Wind 1 Thru 6

A/N: The first six of fifty eventual sentence fics. Okay, some of these are more than one sentence, but they're still all really short. All of these take place before chapter 1 unless marked with an asterisk (*****), and are in Bubbles' POV unless otherwise stated. Special thanks to Yenagirl and Kodra22 for beta-reading. **Update:** Fixed a typo and formatting error in **Box**, removed an errant "the" from **Run**. Also fixed a logic error in **Hurricane**; hopefully the new version is just as good.

**1. ****Ring**

To Bubbles, the loudest explosion is no more irritating than a burbling baby, but when the Mayor collapses and she can do no more than hold his hand and listen to his heart _pull-twist-spasm-burst_, the silence rings in her ears for weeks afterwards, and she has to strain to hear anything else.

**2. ****Hero**

There are a dozen of them: winged, tall, slender and _faster_ than her if not as strong; her back and stomach and legs are warm and wet and slick where their claws have tasted blood (too much--her head is filled with cotton and floating off her shoulders, and her body is heavy as duranium), and a rebellious voice in the back of her head is certain she is about to die. Then the bundle she's cradling curls into her chest and flexes its ten little toes and ten little fingers, and the cotton burns off and she can lift one hundred tons of duranium if she has to. She faces them with one free arm and a knee that twinges and pops when she moves, and they never stand a chance.

**3. ****Memory**

Her days are grey, and even though her nights are usually filled with memories of hellfire and blood and _Bubblespleasedon'tletusdie_, whenever she begins to reach her limit she dreams of a three-color rainbow soaring across a clear blue sky, and promises herself she'll hang on until the day she can fly with her sisters again.

**4. ****Box**** (Ms. Keane)**

It's the size of her fist and wrapped in blue paper with silver bunnies, and no one is sure who brought it; but half of Townsville is at Bubbles' birthday party and the other half sent gifts, so Ms Keane doesn't think twice before pressing it into Bubbles' hands, not until the grinning eight year old tears off the wrapping paper and pink smoke floods her vision as a familiar, echoing laugh fills the air. "_Buubleeees,_" Him hisses, as Sandra Keane forgets how to breathe, "how come _I_ didn't get an invitation?"

**5. ****Run**** ***

Bubbles hears the gunshot from miles away, is a quarter of the way there before the victim's limp body hits the ground with a thud, heart silent and destroyed, and halfway there before the mugger starts to run. She almost wishes the thug could fly: the chase would give her time to push down the rage and horror pumping through her veins before--she plows into his back from behind, and it takes all her willpower to remind herself he isn't the kind of monster she's allowed to kill.

**6. ****Hurricane**

When she breathes deep and yells, the demon pinning her against Townsville Volcano hard enough that she can actually _feel_ it has just enough time to press closer and bellow at her with damp, rotten breath before her Sonic Scream shatters the pavement, rips up several trees, and sends so much dirt and grass flying that she would be blind if she weren't already, and launches the man-lion-thing flying up and into the distance. It has has barely begun a confused howl before she's in the air, wrapping her legs around its waist, grabbing the back of its skull and jaw, and ending it with a sharp twist.


	3. Snapshots: Bubbles on the Wind 7 Thru 15

A/N: More sentence-style fics. Again, all set before chapter 1 unless marked with an asterisk (*), in Bubbles' POV unless otherwise noted. Again, special thanks to Kodra22, and Yenagirl for beta-reading. As a reminder, Mr Krachett is Bubbles' rather antagonistic second grade teacher. Ice Cream flavors courtesy Ben and Jerry's.

**Wings**** (Song Lyrics From "Live and Let Die," by Wings {Yes, I know. Totally cheating.})**

_When you were young and your heart was an open book/You used to say live and let live/…/But if this ever changin' world in which we live in/ Makes you give in and cry/ Say live and let die…_

Bubbles knows what they say about her when they think she can't hear (and too many don't get that when they say her name, she _always_ hears): unstable, cold-blooded, killer, mentally ill, _broken_. And they mean it. When she was six, she would have agreed with them, and sometimes she's even _happy_ she can't see herself in a mirror anymore, afraid of what she would find. But after she fights off the latest beast Him sends to kill them all, they sing her praises and thank her for protecting them and _love her_ and she _hears_ that they mean that, too. She doesn't know how to make those fit together, not really, but knows it has to mean what she's doing is _right_. She figures maybe real heroes don't always get to feel clean. She hopes.

The battle stalls for a few precious seconds, and Bubbles faces down the dragons that have already torn through Townsville Zoo, a mother and her bloodthirsty little hatchlings. She listens to Mr. Kirk's fifth grade class whimpering and crying and praying in the reptile house behind her, and can't help thinking none of them will ever agree to go on a field trip again. _Good. Not safe in this town._ She turns her ears back to the dragons, listens to their blood flow until she has figured out exactly where their spines meet their skulls, and clenches her fists. When she was six, she would have tried to save the hatchlings, or forced Blossom or Buttercup to deal with what she couldn't help think of as babies. _Still_ thinks of as babies. Now, she's more concerned that they're far more unpredictable and destructive than their mother, and _she's_ already set fire to half of Townsville Park.

When Bubbles lunges forward in a blue streak, the hatchlings die first.

_What does it matter to ya / When ya got a job to do / Ya got to do it well / You got to give the other fella hell…_

**Cold** **(Dr Bethany Rhodes {Original Character})**

Doctor Bethany Rhodes considers herself a brave person; a strong backbone is practically required to live in Townsville, and out of medical school she doesn't want to go anywhere else. The city has one of the finest trauma centers in the country (probably because it's crawling with supervillians, criminals, and monsters, but she has always thought her way around that little detail). Then she meets Sam, and even if hellbeasts try to devour the city every other week, she never imagines being anywhere else. When little Jackie comes into their lives, the world is perfect.

Then Him--and really, what the _hell_ had she been thinking, having a family in a real honest-to-God demon's playground--decides to … to … well, she isn't going to pretend to understand what's going on. She just knows he took John Utonium, Buttercup, and Blossom, and in the beginning, left with a horribly traumatized and confused Bubbles as their only hope, Beth let herself join the droves of citizens sure they were all doomed. What could Bubbles do by herself, after all, so gentle that her power almost seemed wasted on her?

But that was eighteen months ago, when Bubbles was still shell-shocked and in denial and _able to see_, before she had shown them all how far she was willing to go for them (even if they didn't believe in her), before she forced herself to be their weapon the way neither she nor her sisters ever had, and Beth knows she'll probably never completely be rid of the shame she feels for doubting.

All these thoughts and more flash through her mind as her car goes over the bridge's railing and splashes grill-first into the frigid water below, even as she screams for help and wishes she could somehow get into the backseat, where little Jackie, uncomprehending, claps and squeals. Her heart leaps into her throat as she realizes her baby girl won't understand even when the water starts seeping into the car (_It's already coming in_), and probably won't be afraid until she actually starts to drown. Her Jackie loves water, after all. And Beth can't even touch her, because water is already rushing into the her car and her legs are submerged and too cold and numb to move. She thinks of Sam and, _God, please … please don't let my little girl die._

Another, more detached part of her curses herself for not getting her brakes checked when they had begun making strange grinding noises yesterday. But in Townsville, where monsters and demons roam the streets, being killed by faulty brakes seems an absurdity.

Then Beth catches a streak of bright blue outside her window, a beacon in the rapidly darkening water, and the world shifts as the car rights itself. The river clears and brightens and, _Bubbles! Oh my God, we're not going to die!_ Jackie's still having a blast, and that weird little detached part of her reflects there's a slight chance her daughter might be just a little bit of a daredevil.

Another few moments, and the car is back on solid ground. Beth sees emergency lights in the distance, rapidly growing closer, hears their sirens yowling in her ears, and lets out a shuddering sigh of relief as Bubbles rips off the driver's side door, water rushing out of the car with a loud splash. Their savior is soaking, dripping wet, and smiling, relief radiating off of her in spite of the blankness of her grey eyes. "It's alright," Bubbles says softly, "I've got ya. Everything will be fine." And without waiting for a response Bubbles gently scoops Beth out of the car and floats to the back door, pulling it open and sitting her next to her daughter. Beth takes a shuddering breath and wraps her arm around her little girl as best she can without pulling her out of the safety seat (in spite of her nerves, she's still a doctor, and knows better than to pull the toddler free from her restraints before the EMTs have checked her over).

Bubbles kneels protectively next to them and says nothing, her smile suddenly sad and far away, and it takes Beth a moment to remember she hasn't seen her own family in eighteen months, and, if they were all honest, might never see them again. In the most literal sense, would never _see_ them again no matter what. She tightens her grip on Jackie and doesn't know what to do for the little superhe--_little girl_ kneeling next to her, and before she can think of anything the authorities are upon them and she's lost her chance.

**Red**** (Robin)**

Robin wakes to darkness in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar bed, the nightmare fading even as it leaves her short of breath and shaking, and it takes her a second to remember where she is, but she remembers _Janet Fraiser's birthday_ and _slumber party_ before she has time to panic, relaxing back into Janet's mattress even as she can't quite manage to shake off the last of the fear trying to make her jump at shadows. _Well_, she thinks, _if I could move._ Mother doesn't like it when her humor turns sarcastic, says it's unladylike and Robin has to be a proper lady especially _now_, but Robin suspects she really doesn't like it because it's just one more thing she's got in common with Bubbles, whose tongue's gotten lots sharper since Him took away her eyes. Her best friend's sense of humor can turn vicious at the drop of a hat and (Robin surpasses a snicker) she's certainly not ladylike, even if her hands are the gentlest Robin knows next to her parents', callouses and scars and all. At least, when she's not using them to tear through something big and slimy and evil.

And that's fine. Townsville doesn't need a perfect little girl right now. She hopes, someday, things can go back to the way they used to be, but knows that can probably never really happen.

Robin breathes slowly through her nose and flexes her shoulders, elbows, wrists, fingers, slowly stretching her upper body out before taking a deep breath, clearing her mind, and mentally yelling at her legs to move. In the dark she can't see, but she hears the quick, stuttery jerk of fabric against sheets that mean she's made some part of her body twitch. She sighs. And of course, the tingles are always there, worse right now, shooting up and down her legs and around her hips and bottom in no pattern she can trace, and she'll always call them _tingles_ because her parents and Bubbles and the rest of her friends and family don't deserve to be constantly confronted with the truth that whenever she's awake it feels like there's a thousand little men with swords stabbing into her.

Except her parents and Bubbles were around in the beginning, when she was still in the hospital and they had to put her on morphine because she couldn't handle the pain, were around when she was sent home with really strong painkillers that made her head foggy, but she had to take to be able to stand legs and hips and other bits that couldn't feel anything but that horrible sparking, so they already know the truth. Robin figures she's just downplaying it for her own benefit, or else she might go a little crazy.

Eventually, she forces herself off the pain pills, too, forces herself to learn to go on as though she doesn't hurt at all, even when the tingles are at their worst, even when her parents beg her to take something because they can't stand to see her shaking and whimpering. She tells them she wants her mind back, because she really can't _think_ when she takes those things, and that's enough for her mother and father. She throws herself into rehab and exercise, working every day for hours with muscles she can still control (and even those she can't, because there's always a chance they might listen to her again one day), until she's a trembling wreck, covered in sweat and barely able to move. Neither of them like seeing her like that, either, but neither would dare complain. Robin knows her physical therapist has told them motivating kids with injuries like her is usually a problem, so they figure they got lucky.

One day, when she's alone with her father, she says what she knows her Mom can't stand to hear: she has wanted to give up before, to give in and stay on the painkillers and sag in her chair and let herself wither away because she can't move and can't feel anything down there that doesn't _hurt_ and everything she ever thought about doing when she grew up needs legs and feet that do more than tingle and twitch, but those thoughts stay behind in the hospital when she goes home.

She tells her father about the time he and Mom had gone to get something to eat, and she was laying in her hospital room, and Him sent giant, flying spiders to trash the city (_Him really likes monster bugs_), and before the nurses wheeled her to the emergency elevator and took her to the bomb shelter in the basement, she laid there and watched Bubbles, still struggling to learn to protect the city without her eyes, trying to fight them off. She won (one of the few things Robin believes in absolutely is that Bubbles will always win), but it was a horrible fight. She went down more times than Robin could count, coming up battered and bloodied, and even though nowadays she can twirl through the air and slip around almost any monster and fight like she can see perfectly -- better than perfect -- back then she struggled and it was horrible to watch because Robin knew Bubbles really _was_ outmatched, and only kept getting back up, only won because she's too stubborn to do anything else, too stubborn to give up, too stubborn to lose.

Too stubborn, Robin even thinks, to die (though she knows that's not true and just tries to think it to keep from freaking out).

Robin tells her father that she has always known Bubbles and her sisters would do anything to protect the city, but never really thought about what that meant, not until Bubbles is alone and hurt and _fragile_ in a way Robin never even imagined she could be, and keeps on going anyway.

Bubbles is her best friend, and loves them all so much, and Robin tells her father she thinks it would be insulting to give up, when Bubbles isn't willing to. Her father doesn't say anything for a long time, and at first Robin is afraid she's made him angry, but then he smiles and ruffles her hair and calls her cupcake and tells her he's proud of her with a funny, thick voice.

_And at least_, she thinks, laying in the borrowed bed and listening to her friends snore, _I don't have it as bad as lots of the other kids._ She doesn't realize that at first, of course, not until her parents take her to a support group for other kids whose backs are injured like hers. She may be stuck with the tingles, but at least Bubbles was fast enough to stop the worst of the damage, and she can still tell when she needs to go to the toilet, can still breathe on her own, can still swallow food and drink without a problem, doesn't have a rod in her back that makes it impossible to bend.

A particularly nasty tingle gets past her defenses and she squeaks in pain before she can help herself, already feeling guilty even before the girl in the sleeping bag next to her bed stirs. _Damn_, and okay, so she knows a few adult words she's not supposed to, but she's overheard her parents arguing a lot more since she had a bus dropped on her, _and she was actually sleeping..._

Bubbles is up, kneeling on her knees and one arm, an open palm reaching in her direction. "Robin?" she says drowsily, though Robin knows that, if she gave any sign of being in trouble or needing help, that sleepiness would slide away from her friend like water off a duck's back.

"Hey, Bubbles," she whispers as she takes the offered hand, almost too quietly for her own ears to hear. No need to wake up anyone else. "Sorry. Didn't mean to--"

"Tingles?" Bubbles asks, and Robin can hear her frown even if she can't see anything but the outline of her head.

Robin nods, knowing better than to try to lie when Bubbles is probably giving her the superhearing once-over. Even though Bubbles can't see, Robin knows she catches the gesture, either from hearing the way her hair moves or using the blood flowing through her veins. "Yeah, but only after I woke up." She hesitates, not wanting to upset her friend more. "Bad dream." _Next time someone suggests we watch a movie with an evil clown, they're getting a pillow to the head. Filled with rocks._ Robin thinks of the movie, thinks of her dream of Him, transformed into a clown at Bubbles' birthday party, long arms wrapped around her struggling friend as he grinned at her, what they all soon found out was acid dripping from his teeth, before he spat--Robin shakes her head violently. They quickly changed movies after that little plot twist, but the damage was done. "Hey, don't worry about it."

Bubbles shakes her head. "Fat chance," she says, a hint of a smile in her voice. "Done sleeping anyway. More than a few hours and I … have my own dreams."

Robin says nothing. She's seen Bubbles having a nightmare, and would almost rather watch her fight a monster than have to watch _that_ again. Her legs tingle painfully, more than normal, and she mutters about missing her own mattress.

"Want some help?" Bubbles whispers gently, and for a moment Robin imagines they're both six again, and Bubbles still remembers how to smile all the way. Its nice to know Him won't ever be able to completely destroy the part of her that's loving and caring like no one else, no matter how hard he tries.

Robin grins in the dark. "If you don't mind. I'm not sure I'll be able to fall back asleep, otherwise. I think this mattress is too soft, or something."

"Better than the sleeping bags, though?" Bubbles asks, reaching under the covers, and Robin nods and wishes she could feel the hands pressing against her legs, massaging her confused nerves back under control, just as the therapist had first taught her parents, then her father (with her mother's grudging permission) had taught Bubbles. Aside from her parents and the therapist, Robin doesn't really feel comfortable letting anyone else touch her where she can't feel.

They stay like that for several minutes, the sound of her bedding shifting the only way Robin can tell Bubbles is doing anything, until finally her legs are manageable again. She drifts back to sleep just as Bubbles resettles the covers over her, feeling warm and safe, and the last thing she hears is Bubbles telling her have pleasant dreams.

_You too…_

**Drink**

Bubbles spends most of her Friday night patrolling the air over the high school's senior prom, because it's just the sort of party Him likes to crash. Besides, the rest of the city's pretty quiet and Robin's sleeping off a cold, so there's really no where else for her to be. After four hours of practicing barrel rolls, loops, and what Blossom would have called evasive maneuvers (and Bubbles, privately, always thinks of as dancing), the party's winding down (though it won't be over for an hour) and she's starting to think she was worried over nothing, but then a girl screams, heartbeat spiking, before flesh clapping over flesh muffles her. Another moment and she's completely silent.

Bubbles lands behind the gym in less than second, but even before she comes to a stop she tags two other heartbeats she doesn't recognize. The girl hangs limp in the bigger one's arms, heartbeat and breathing unnaturally slow.

"Oh, _fuck_," the smaller one slurs, sounding terrified, and the stench of too much strong liquor hits her nose. The big one drops the girl and something smaller, and Bubbles lunges before either can hit the ground, cradling the unconscious teenager with one arm and snagging the thing--_feels like a needle_--out of the air with the other. The boys don't move or speak, but Bubbles can hear the terror in their blood.

And Bubbles tries to calm herself, even as a white-hot ball of fury explodes between her temples and she has to blink back a blast of heat vision that would incinerate them both (because maybe she's only eight, but she's not stupid and this isn't the first time she's found a guy (or several) drunk and hidden behind a building with a helpless girl, and what she couldn't figure out on her own Mommy explained, crying into a coffee mug and talking about how she wasn't supposed to know that kinda stuff yet (even though she had to now that the police couldn't handle all the regular criminals on their own).

Still, she couldn't sleep for a week after Mommy explained it to her. In some ways, she thinks, Him will never be more wicked than humans can be.

She carefully slips the needle in her pocket and uses her now-free hand to get a better grip on the girl, floating into the air. Her heart rate and breathing aren't right _at all_. Bubbles turns her attention to the shaking cowards beneath her, and parts her lips, blowing them into a nearby wall; they sputter and beg and she's suddenly madder than ever. She focuses on them for another second, until she's sure she can find their heartbeats anywhere in the city.

"You're gonna tell me what and how much ya gave her, right now" Bubbles can't make it come out as anything but a snarl, but one of them chokes out a name and number she commits to memory, and oh, great, they apparently gave her lots to drink, too. "I'll be back. ..._Don't make me have'ta look for you._" They stutter and she can hear their heads slice through the air as they nod like idiots.

Bubbles flies for the emergency room as fast as she dares, losing herself in listening to the girl's every sound. Concentrating on making sure she lives gives Bubbles something to focus on besides the rage thrumming between her ears, and when she lands in the emergency room parking lot forty seconds later, she can honestly say she's overcome the compulsion to hit both boys until she can't hear them at all.

**Midnight**

Bubbles loves Townsville most after midnight. Between 2:30 and 4:30 in the morning, most of the town is asleep, even the criminals (well, unless someone's planned a crime or Him's unleashed a monster), and when she can't sleep she leaps out her window and its just her and the wind and the city as no one but her can see it, gusts of air between buildings carving out paths and revealing half-hidden places no one else would notice. She dances on air for hours, and thinks Townsville is kinda like a cranky baby: much more adorable when it's out cold. She smirks. _If that makes me the babysitter, I definitely don't get paid enough._

**Temptation**

Bubbles can think of at least fifty different ways to make sure Mommy's date ends in a disaster that will make sure she never wants to see Mr Hamilton ever again. She's even certain she can get away with five of them. But Mr Hamilton seems like a perfectly nice man, and he likes Mommy a lot, and the only thing Bubbles has against him is _he's not Daddy_ and she knows that isn't enough, even if she's certain Mommy still had a thing for him even after they broke up (even Valentino agrees they were good together, and the cat is downright hostile to any guy who shows Mommy attention).

So she goes to practice her drums before Mommy leaves and gets deep into something loud and fast, because she knows even though Mommy is happy she has a hobby, she really doesn't like rock music that much, and won't come in to say bye if she's jamming out. It's much easier to sound happy and supportive shouting through the door, when Mommy can't see her face. As she hears Mommy drive off, she hopes everything goes well, in spite of herself.

**View**** (Ms Keane) (*)**

Sandra is going to kill Krachett, she decides, even as years of teaching pre-schoolers allow her to keep a calm, placid expression on her face. The part of her seething with rage as she walks down the museum's hallway, most of Bubbles' classmates crowded around her (because, after all, she is the popular, friendly chaperone), is already busy preparing the verbal evisceration she's going to give him once this damnable tour is over and Bubbles is somewhere far away and unlikely to be listening. Or maybe she won't worry about whether her daughter can hear: Bubbles needs to know it's okay to think the man's an asshole, though she will of course expect Bubbles to express it in age appropriate terms. _Parental double standard? Hell, yes._

She focuses on the sound of her heels clicking against the marble tile as she walks, on making sure her charges don't break anything expensive or irreplaceable, and finally manages to pull her anger down from thundering rage into something like a dull roar.

The one _mandatory_ second grade science/history field trip of the entire year, and the prick has to pick the Townsville Museum of Visual Arts, when they've got the best Natural Sciences and Natural History Museums in the state. Everything in the damn building is about color and shape and texture and shadows and light and sure, maybe Bubbles could at least get something out of the sculptures, but not without touching them, and that's not allowed.

And from the smug look on the bastard's face as they trudge through the first of six floors they're supposed to cover over the next four hours, he knows exactly what he's doing. Bubbles, who has to be her charge and not her daughter right now, floats along, face expressionless. _Too expressionless_. Her baby girl is likely at least as angry as she classmates' expressions, ranging from discomfort to mildly mutinous to downright furious (Sandra wonders if Bubbles doesn't have her hand resting on Robin's wheelchair to keep her from running Krachett down) leave Sandra both proud and worried she's standing on a powder keg. She knows she shouldn't, but finds the whole supportive, openly disrespectful display oddly gratifying. Especially when she notices the twitch in her _esteemed colleague's_ eye.

And she just has to stand there and do nothing because once Kratchett got authorization to take the kids to "an educational museum of my choosing" she had no reason to expect he would pull something this low until the day of the trip when he finally announced where they were going (_Wanted it to be a surprise, my ass...)_. But she's only got so much patience and self control, and is about to rip the man a new one when Bubbles finally has enough. "Hey, Robin," she says, in a not-at-all quiet whisper that's just a little _too_ polite (and, Sandra notes with hidden glee, her girl just happens to be floating near the "no talking" sign), "this sounds really cool. What's it look like?" Because somehow the man can lecture _ad nauseam_ in an art museum and still not _describe_ anything.

And Robin grins and starts describing the exhibit in a low whisper that, even though Sandra can't hear the words, carries across the room like the sound of crickets chirping. Krachett suddenly can't hide his anger and contempt behind his smugness anymore, and Sandra watches him suck in a lungful of air to reprimand the girls when he finally seems to notice he's surrounded by a small army of children ready to beat the tar out of him. His eyes widen and he looks to her for support, and, suddenly having a most excellent day, she smiles at him beatifically, as though she doesn't want to grab the Aztec ceremonial spear on the wall and scream at the children to "_Charge!_" With great effort she even forces herself not to wink. There's the slight chance the moron would think she was flirting with him, after all. Her stomach flips. _Ew._

Anyone watching probably thinks Bubbles doesn't react, but Sandra knows her moods better than anyone else in Townsville, and doesn't miss the way her mouth twitches into something that wants to be a vicious grin before she gets it back under control and devotes her full attention to Robin's delighted voice.

Krachett blinks once, twice, visibly pushing down his anger, and goes back to a lecture no one really listens to. Sandra watches Bubbles actually enjoy herself and walks along with a much happier group of students, and mentally begins making plans to finally get the jackass who's done his best to make Bubbles miserable for the last year fired. Being a rude, insufferable (but completely rules compliant) jerk in class is one thing. Giving Sandra grounds to threaten an equal protection lawsuit (because Sandra actually goes to the training meetings, and pays attention to what is and isn't legal) is quite another. Especially given that the PTA and school board just happen to like her, and Bubbles, better than they do Krachett, who's only kept his job this long because he's a slippery bastard. Or _was_. She smiles. No way is he talking himself out of this one.

**Music**** (Ms Keane)**

"You're sure this is what you want?" Sandra asks, proud of herself for completely suppressing the panic she feels.

"Yep, Mommy," Bubbles, well, _bubbles_, grinning so big her dimples almost show, excitement practically radiating off her. Sandra only now remembers how much her girl loves music, and feels like an idiot for forgetting all this time.

Sandra looks at Andre Forte, who's so glad that Him's latest creature didn't crush his family that he's practically forcing Bubbles to pick whatever she wants from his inventory, then back at her daughter, and feels herself melt. Bubbles never takes gifts from anyone for saving them, but Andre had been one of the citizens that, in a panic, initially blamed her for their predicament, and all three of them know, even if it's unsaid, this is his way of trying to apologize. Sandra really couldn't get in the way of that. Even if she wanted to. And Lord, did she want to, looking at the monstrosity in front of her. "Okay," she smiles. "You really don't have to do this, Andre, but, it looks like we'll take the," _purple, so bright you can see it from space, and big enough to wake everyone in the neighborhood_, "drum set."

Bubbles giggles happily and hugs her and Andre and Sandra knows its worth it.

Even if she suddenly feels doomed.

**Silk** **(Robin)**

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Bubbles grouses as she leaps from Robin's window, her friend tucked safely against her chest. Her wheelchair, neatly folded, hangs from her free hand. In spite of her tone, Bubbles' lips twitch into a grin. "Feels like I'm kidnapping you."

Robin giggles. "It's not like I had to try that hard," she sing-songs. "One 'Bubbles, get me outta here,' and you were there in ten seconds." Her earlier rotten mood evaporates as they soar through the air, and she rests her head on Bubbles' shoulder and watches the world go by, everything small and colorful like a giant lego pad.

"Yeah, well," Bubbles sighs, "it's not like I was gonna leave you there with them arguing like that, but we shoulda told somebody where we were going. Or tried to … they probably wouldn't'a heard us if we'd set off a firecracker. What does your grandma expect 'em to do?" Bubbles scowls, and Robin's gut twists.

"My family's … not like your family, Bubbles. Everyone doesn't just adore everyone else," she shakes her head. "Grandma always thought Mom and Dad got married too early. Blames Dad for Mom never finishing college and ending up 'stuck at home playing housewife.' … Don't repeat that, by the way. I don't think I was supposed to overhear it." Bubbles nods with a _hurrumph_, scowl darkening. Robin's going to have to do something about that, quickly, but her friend won't let her leave the story half finished. "It got better after I was born, from what I hear, but now that I'm, well, _higher maintenance_," she makes air quotes, feeling a cold fist slam into her stomach at the thought of her grandmother's words and the spark of anger in Bubbles' face, "the old argument's getting … reargued … I guess. Grandma still loves me," she adds, and whether she's trying to convince herself or Bubbles she isn't sure, "she's just … nothing's like she wanted it to be."

Bubbles scoffs, but Robin can see her scowl lighten just a bit. "Nothin's like _anyone_ wanted it to be." She sighs, and maybe senses Robin's embarrassment, because Robin can actually see her try to shake her sour mood off: a muscle twitches several times in her jaw before finally relaxing. "So," she begins, and actually does sound a little happier, "what're we doing?"

Robin thinks for a a minute. She probably _is_ going to get in trouble with her parents at this point, so she might as well do something worthwhile with her time. "Library? I need to finish my silkworm report."

Bubbles raises a teasing eyebrow; Robin thinks to herself that, though her grey eyes are blank, they are by no means emotionless if you know how to read them. "I finished mine yesterday. You've had a month. It's due in _two days_."

Robin raises her hands, palms open as if to ward off a dangerous animal, giggling back. "I know! I've only gotta find a couple more sources, I swear. What about you? How's it going with the," she giggles, "dung beetles?" _And three … two … there's the vein on her forehead. Hee._

"'Pick an animal out of the hat to do your report on, kids,'" Bubbles sing-songs, her shoulder-length hair flying behind her and doing nothing to make her sound any more ominous than a wet kitten, as far as Robin is concerned. "'I'm sure you'll be surprised how fascinating it is!' Wanna guess how fascinating a _dung_ beetle is, Robbie?" Robin's seen her _truly_ angry, ready to kill things, and anything less than that is just kinda adorable. "And Mitch Mitchelson got gazelles! _Mitch! Gazelles!_ How can he appreciate them? He tried to start a _cockroach wrestling league!_"

"Ugh," Robin wrinkles her nose. "Don't remind me. When they got loose one almost went down my shirt." That was a _wonderful_ day.

They're both silent for a little while, then Bubbles grins. "I think we need ice cream, first. Library after that."

"Oh, yeah," Robin laughs, making sure Bubbles can hear her grin. "Hit it." Bubbles banks left, the wind whips through their hair, and Robin tries to decide between Brownie Batter and Creme Brulee.


	4. Snapshots: Bubbles on the Wind 16 to 22

AN: More sentence-style fics that aren't one sentence at all. Again, all set before chapter 1 unless marked with an asterisk (*), in Bubbles' POV unless otherwise noted. Again, special thanks to Kodra22, and Yenagirl for beta-reading. In this slightly more realistic AU, the Gangrene Gang aren't the green skinned mutants they were in the show, even if their personalities and special talents and appearances are otherwise the same. Speech appearing in brackets indicates Bubbles isn't speaking English.

**16. ****Cover**** (Ace) ***

_Ain't exactly no Don Corleone. Never gonna be._

Ace sighed as he pressed himself further into the shadows, brick poking at his back, gazing up over the cracked wall of the building on the other side of the dingy alley at the crimson sky. It'd been a long time since he'd dreamed himself an up-and-coming prince of crime, working his way to living a life of money and women and expensive clothes and babes and fancy cars and ladies and exotic foods and chicks. It had been simple when he'd set out on his own, after getting fed up with his father for being a drunken, violent shit and his mother for just sitting there and letting him treat them worse than dogs. Sure, he was older now, and was starting to understand why she hadn't been able to get away, but --

_Whoa, there, hotshot. Head in the game._

Before the world went to hell, he was just starting to figure out that you didn't get to live like Don Corleone unless you killed, maimed, and used like Don Corleone, and when it came down to it, as much as he hated to admit it at the time, he just didn't have it in him. Not like he wanted to spend his days manicuring puppies and walking old ladies, either, and he sure as hell didn't mind playing the system against itself when it suited him. But yeah, whatever, it was totally his decision when he walked away from the Gangrene Gang. Not like getting sealed under a dome of demonic red energies while a Satan wannabe set the entire town on a course to re-enacting the worst parts of _Hellraiser_ and _Nightmare on Elm Street_ scared him straight or something. Bite your tongue, jack.

Okay, fine, so maybe seeing what kind of batshit psychos came out of the woodwork once the profit motive was gone had a bit to do with it. _Way to grow a conscience, there, top cat._

_Having a great conversation with myself, here. This is _so_ healthy, Acey-boy. Hell, I _did_ chose to get mixed up in this, though. Must be _alittle_ crazy, after all. Huh._ He groaned, checking his watch and re-checking the studded brass knuckles he kept in his pockets. _A quarter after one._ She was fifteen minutes late, and he was five minutes from jumping at shadows. "Fuck."

His heart leapt into his throat as a small form dropped into the alley across from him without a sound. In the dim light of a failing street lamp, her black jeans and dark blue t-shirt and gloves made her body almost invisible, but her pale skin and grey eyes all-but glowed. His jaw dropped and his heart skipped a beat at the thin, angry red gouge running from her right temple to her jaw, and the deep cut over the bridge of her nose. Sure, she'd fought some kind of vampire butterfly (_What the hell, man?_) earlier, but he had no idea it'd been that bad.

She raised both eyebrows, tilting her head at him. "Y'know, whenever that's the first thing somebody says ta' me, I never like what happens next. Good to see ya, too, Ace."

He shook his head. _Smooth, dumbass._ "Sorry, Bubbles. I didn't mean it like that. Just … your face, kid. Jesus. You okay?" _No, of course not._

She shrugged, smile thin but sincere (he'd certainly seen her _you're-about-to-get-your-ass-kicked_ smile enough to tell the difference). "I'll be fine, Ace. Don't worry about it. 'Fraid these might leave some marks, though." She frowned slightly. "Can't wait to hear Princess tell me how much more I look like a horrendous freak now."

Ace narrowed his eyes, feeling a disquieting tightness in his chest that he was quickly coming to loathe. "Princess Morbucks is a bitch, y'know." He wasn't quite sure why he suddenly wanted to grab Princess and throw her through a third story window. It wasn't like Bubbles couldn't beat the tar out of her with both hands tied behind her back. She'd done it before. Twice.

Bubbles giggled, smile widening a little. "I know, Ace. Thanks. Sorry I'm late. My alarm didn't go off." Her lips thinned into a tight line, expression becoming more serious than Blossom's ever had. Her blank eyes seemed to smolder. "You didn't call me here so we could gossip about what a little twit Princess is. You heard something?"

_Alarm didn't go off, my ass._ She didn't have her usual grace, her shoulders sagging as he watched, and he made himself not think about it, forcing a chuckle. "I wouldn't be too much good as your number one secret agent man if I hadn't, kid." He sighed. He hated to do this to her, but she had to know. That was the whole point of having a go-to guy that was plugged into Townsville's underground, and its silent or otherwise untraceable communications. Encrypted online messaging, typed out letters, conversations conducted entirely by flash cards with pre-printed phrases, lip reading, runners with encoded paper messages, and a dozen other tricks kept Towsville's increasingly bugfuck insane -- and increasingly clever -- criminal population in business. "I've been hearing rumors for about a week, and I actually got it confirmed tonight. There's this guy, Cam Chou Do -- yeah, just don't call him clam chowder to his face -- and he's totally flipped his gourd, and taken a few dozen thugs and a few heavies with him. The Cult of the Blood Clown is open for business, and they're recruiting. This fucker and his buddies are _worshipping_ the bastard. ... The guy that invited me in said they have access to weapons that can hurt you. He claimed they had some Antidote-X. Don't know whether or not to believe 'im. Personally, it's not something I'd brag about if it wasn't true, but that's just me ..." And now he was rambling. Great.

Bubbles said nothing for a long moment, then slumped back against the wall. "Oh … well, I guess they'd have'ta have somethin' they think would keep me away."

Ace shuddered; her voice was dim and distant, like someone had reached into her chest and disconnected something important. Then again, he hadn't dealt much better with the idea of Him-worshipers, though being surrounded with a half-dozen of them had forced him to recover pretty quick and spin some bullshit about needing time to think. _Aw, screw it._ He stepped forward and knelt, grasping her shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting way. "Bubbles ... kid … they're not interested in keeping you away. I'm … I'm pretty sure they're gonna try to take ya out for ole' tomato-face. If they've got weapons that can hurt you..." He felt a shudder, and honestly didn't know which one of them it was. "I haven't given my recruiter an answer yet. These guys are psycho, and I wouldn't normally touch 'em with a cruise missile, but if you want someone on the inside ..." He never assumed she needed him. Way he figured it, letting her ask for his help gave her just a little bit more control than she'd otherwise have in this hellhole. Every little bit helps, right?

She looked up to face him and he flinched, but not at the hastily blinked-away tears (he'd expected those) -- the confusion and anger twisting her face left him weak in the knees. She hadn't looked so bereft when a mantis demon had ran its blades through her stomach. But just as quickly, they were gone, and he almost wondered if he had imagined the whole thing. "I .. I'm gonna need someone on the inside," she whispered harshly. And it was still a question; even after everything, even after _this_, she still wouldn't toss him to the wolves without asking for permission. "I've gotta stop 'em before they hurt somebody." Still, the picture of control and poise she was going for was shattered by her left hand, balled up into a shaking fist, though most people probably wouldn't have noticed, what with the fingers on her right hand dug into the brick wall up to the knuckles. Not like he was gonna say anything, though.

He flashed a grin he hoped she'd somehow be able to hear, even if he couldn't shake the feeling _someone_ was gonna die over this, and it might well be her. The thought filled him with dread. He blinked. When had the idea of her death become so terrifying? _Didn't see that commin'. _And despite what he knew they were getting into (or maybe because of it), there was a small part of him that thrilled at the idea of getting to kick a little ass and do it on the right side of the fence. _I gotta be out of my damn mind. _He summoned his best bring-it-on grin, and did his best to infuse it into his voice. "I'm your Ace, kid. Let's get 'em."

**17. ****Promise**** (Sequel to Cover) (*)**

If she had still been able to see, and hadn't learned the hard way there were worse things to fear than the dark, floating through a cemetery at 2:30 in the morning might have given her the creeps. Now, she wouldn't dare be here when the city was awake and buzzing in her ears, twisting her gut with every whispered insult and spurring her to action with every call for help. She pressed her lips together, sniffing deeply to make sure she was going in the right direction -- she hated having to find her way without any sound.

From the south, the wind carried the scent of freshly dug earth, and beneath all that, the earthy aroma of wood, perfumey hair gel, and the sour tang of embar--embama--funeral chemicals. She gulped back a sob, letting her eyes water freely, for once. Who would see? She should have known how to get where she was going by memory, but today had been a horrible blur, just like when the Mayor died, and she found it difficult to focus on anything. One moment she and Mommy were at the cemetery gates and the next the preacher was talking. Obviously, she had clocked out for a bit. She moved in that direction, floating a little quicker.

At least there was only one burial today. If she'd had to play guessing games with holes in the ground, she wasn't sure what she would've done.

Finally, she stopped, lowering herself to the grass gently _swish-swish-swishing_ in the breeze and reaching out a tentative hand to pat fresh dirt. She swallowed hard again, hot tears running down her cheeks.

"H-heya. I--I--" What was she supposed to say? What could she say that didn't sound totally stupid 'cause he was _dead_ and she … wasn't. She pressed her hand lightly to her bandaged neck, wincing at the tenderness. She hadn't been used to _dodging_ bullets, laced with almost-but-not-exactly Antidote X or not, but she learned quickly, and probably woulda been fine if not for the teargas-bomb-thingie filled with the same stuff. She shuddered.

_The fog exploded around her, burning her nostrils and searing her throat when she couldn't stop herself from gasping for air she didn't even really need. She crumpled to her knees, feeling like every inch of her skin was scraping against duranium sandpaper. The long, narrow wound on her neck throbbed and she actually thought she could hear _sizzling_ for a half-instant. Spikes of liquid heat stabbed into her ears and even her dulled eyes tingled harshly._

_ For a terrifying moment the agony even left her ears ringing, and she didn't hear the gunshot until it was too late to move. Regret filled her in the split second before she knew the end would come -- _failed them, failed them all, Mommy, Daddy, Blossom, Buttercup, Robbie, Ace, Bunnie (Oh, Bunnie!) _-- before shock numbed her --_ the people she had sworn to protect were about to gleefully rip her apart --_ but then someone fell on top of her, and she blinked as her body burned the poison out and and her ears opened up and she could hear a familiar heartbeat as familiar scented hair gel hit her nose -- _Oh, God!

_None of them had expected her to get a chance to fight back, and it lasted less than a minute. She burned their little weapon pile up even faster, as they lay moaning pitifully around her. _Cowards._ Every ICU in Townsville was full afterwards, but as fast as she flew after she gathered him in her achy arms, by the next morning there was one more body in the morgue._

Bubbles pressed her palms flat against the dirt and tried again. "The … the funeral …" _no one came, except Mommy and me and Robbie and Mayor Bellum, and she didn't seem to want to be there,_ "it was … I … I don't like funerals, but it sounded like … funerals should sound, I think. The priest said nice things. I wanted to come here and tell you I was sorry, and that I wouldn't let anyone die, but … I can't keep that promise. Gonna try anyway, though." She sobbed, rocking back on her knees. "Please forgive me." _Not gonna say it, 'cause you'd think I was bein' stupid, but I swear I won't let anyone else die tryin' to help me, even if it means not takin' any help. At least I've got a chance of keeping that one, huh?_

In the distance, someone screamed, and she grit her teeth, before giving the dirt pile a small pat and disappearing in the next instant in a blue blur. _Guess I'm not the only one awake, after all._ "See ya around, Ace."

**18. ****Dream**** (*)**

The world shines brightly in her eyes -- crystal blue skies, lush emerald grass, and a thousand million colors in between -- and she grins, a tear running down her cheek. In the distance, Blossom is getting an ice-cream from the friendly lady in the truck while she reads a book on Chinese History, and Buttercup is trouncing a group of high-school boys at ultimate frisbee. Oh, how she's missed this! Missed it because … because … she blinks, and suddenly everything's too bright, garish, like glowing neon paint. This isn't real, and she floats up into the air, scowling into the too-blue sky and folding her arms. "What'd'ya want?"

"_Can't ever keep you fooled toooooo long, can I?"_

She snorts. "You think I wouldn't notice gettin' moved from Hell to Candyland?" She doesn't dare tell him that sometimes the only thing that shakes her out of the fantasies he creates for her is that he makes things a _bit_ too perfect. "I asked ya a question. Why're you in my head?"

"_Oh, my deeeeeaaaaar little Bubbles."_ And suddenly he's there, a giant, hissing cobra, wrapping himself around her ankles and up and up and her arms are pinned to her side before she can blink. "What makes you think it's _stiiilll yoouurs?_"

Bubbles squirms and struggles though she knows she's powerless against him, even here in her head, where she should be the untouchable one. She's not a naive little girl anymore; she knows he's playing with her. If he ever wants to reach into her head and crush and twist whatever makes her _her_, she can't stop him. But somehow, she knows he _doesn't_ want that. She summons up all her courage, even as the fear begins building in her gut. "Cause I wake up every day, and know I'm gonna beat ya, no matter how much ya knock me around first." She fights back a shudder. The look in his eyes -- he's bored and feelin' extra mean. It's really gonna hurt this time.

"_Wwweeeeelll,_" he hisses, his coiled body tightening painfully around hers until she wants to scream. She bites the inside of her mouth instead, nearly drawing blood. "_I suppose I can't help what you think, but personally? You're a bit of an idiot._"

The scene changes. The sky is red, the buildings shattered, and blood oozes down the deserted street. She fears what's coming next and tries to shut her eyes, but she can't even blink, and she _sees everything_. She watches her sisters float down the deserted street, scared and confused and calling her name, before Him's demons set upon them.

They're not ready. They're unprepared and too busy bickering because she's not there to balance them out. She watches them struggle, bleeding and scared and calling for her, for what feels like hours. Tears run down her face as an ice dagger twists into her heart, but she doesn't dare make a sound. When they pull through, bloody and staggering but whole, she's just about to allow herself to hope its over, when a shadow falls over them and Him grabs the back of her hair and tugs, forcing her to look up.

The Other Bubbles floating in the sky wears purple jeans and a blood red shirt with matching gloves, and even knowing every scar on her body by heart, Bubbles can't help be shocked by the way they stand out, pale and winding and angry, against her skin. Is that really what she looks like now? But before she can think too much about it, Other Bubbles' face hardens and shifts into a mask of calm and concentration she's spent a year-and-a-half learning how to keep in place whenever she's about to -- "_No!_"

She feels Buttercup and Blossom's relief, right before Other Bubbles is upon them. Bubbles screams her throat raw as her double rips Blossom's head from her neck in one smooth motion. Buttercup, weakened and too confused and angry and horrified to remember she's _faster_ than Bubbles will ever be, falls under her sister's uncontrollable eye beams.

Bubbles yells herself hoarse as the scene rewinds and starts to replay itself. It happens differently this time, but they still fall against the lethal weapon she's taught herself to be. The scene rewinds again. Again. Again. _Again._ Horror and agony slam against her mind and leave her barely able to think as Other Bubbles breaks Buttercup's back before tossing her aside and setting in on Blossom while Buttercup watches, unable to move.

Him hisses into her ear, his hot breath brushing her neck. "_What's wrong? Aren't we having fuuuuuun?_" He cackles with glee.

Bubbles screams.

**19. ****Candle**

Bubbles grins as Mommy's students cheer. It kinda surprises her that Halloween's still such a popular holiday, given the _real_ monsters and demons spending so much time trying to kill them all, but she supposes there'll always be plenty of people looking for an excuse to dress up in costumes and get truly extreme amounts of candy. Free candy. _Oh, yeah._ Her smile broadens.

Candy and costumes -- of course Halloween's awesome. And since they had to close down her school to fix the fire sprinklers after the last monster attack, she gets to spend the day with people who are still young enough not to think they have to outgrow it. She thinks of helping Mommy into her Good Witch of the East costume. _Well. I guess not everyone outgrows it. Good._

"And --" Mommy's voice rings out, as Bubbles hears a match scrape against a striker, and smells ozone and sulfur for a few seconds before Mommy lights the candle inside the pumpkin, "there we go!" The cheers double in volume, and Bubbles sighs contentedly as the fire heats up the gourd and amplifies its earthy scent. She doesn't know what the jack o' lantern looks like, exactly, but it's certainly lovely.

**20. ****Silence**

Bubbles rolls to a stop and shakes her head desperately to try and get rid of the ringing from the last blow to her temple (and just _great_, there's something warm and wet and sticky dripping down the side of her face, and there's only one thing _that_ can be), but even when her head clears she still can't hear anything until right before --

Distorted, confused noise she can't trace, a sonic boom too late to react to, and a spiked … something slams into her middle from below, seemingly from nowhere. She can only scream as she's thrown dozens of feet into the air, chest throbbing and burning with every breath, and she knows at several ribs are cracked if she's lucky, probably broken.

Copper bathes her tongue and blood dribbles down her chin as she scrabbles to her feet, bringing her forearms up to protect her face. _Oh, boy. This isn't working. Too fast._ This thing -- she still hasn't gotten a clear idea of what it is -- won't slow below the speed of sound until right before it decides to hit her, and between how fast it's moving and the shockwaves it's making, she just can't track it well enough to fight back. _Gotta slow it do--_ Something -- _Feet? Tail?_ -- slams into the back of her knees, and she wails as her legs collapse underneath her. A spiked whatever clips her skull, and vertigo overtakes her, which is totally unfair, really, 'cause you should have to be able to see to get dizzy.

A distant, detached part of her mind wonders why she isn't panicking, because this thing isn't slowing down and she can't fight back --

_Sure ya can_, a little voice that sounds a lot like Buttercup sounds in the back of her head. _You know what ya gotta do. You've tried everything else already._ And she does have an idea, but after what Him did to her she swore she'd never permanently -- _A few more seconds, and you're dead. Besides, ya ain't leavin' it like that. You're gonna kill it. Or ya can die, and Him wins._

Bubbles grits her teeth and draws in a deep breath before rolling onto her back as quickly as she can, thankful this part of downtown has been completely evacuated -- though with all the sonic booms she isn't sure how they'll ever put it back together again. She lets loose with the most powerful, tightly focused Sonic Scream she can muster, pushing past the safety limits she's always known by instinct and never dared cross and praying the thing will stay still just long enough to be bombarded with the last sound it'll ever hear.

An anguished scream reaches her as the thing crashes to the pavement and the last of its shockwaves fade, and she gets her first clear picture of what exactly it is (_Evil killer peacock demon? That's new._) just in time to hear its eardrums burst. She keeps screaming as she leaps towards it and leashes out with her fists, two skull-shattering blows ending the fight.

Him never sends a supersonic monster after her again, and she never can decide whether that means he decided it wouldn't work, or he got what he wanted.

**21. ****Journey**** (Buttercup Utonium) (*)**

_Bubbles!_

Buttercup awakes with a start as a half-remembered nightmare of fog and blood and her terrified baby sister fades from her consciousness, eyes almost instantly adjusting to the moonlight streaming in through the windows, night vision lighting up the room she shares with Blossom better than a thousand nightlights, and takes several deep breaths to calm herself and find her center, just like Sensei teaches her at the dojo. Thirty seconds later, she's pretty sure she isn't going to scream or break down and punch holes in the walls, and slumps back into her pillows, shutting her eyes tightly. Thirty seconds after that, she turns her head to gaze down at Blossom, still slumbering peacefully -- in sleep, her sister's face is twisted into a faint scowl, eyes screwed tight with worry and fear and a bunch of other stuff she does a pretty good job of hiding when she's awake. Feelings she won't admit to anyone else but Buttercup or Pop. Though she's slipping around Dexter more and more, lately. Weird.

Buttercup smiles faintly, curling a lock of her sister's long, wild red hair around her fingers. _As peacefully as any of us sleep anymore, I guess._ She freezes when Blossom curls closer to her, throwing an arm around her stomach. She lays her hand over her sister's, thinking of the old Buttercup, too macho (_stupid_) to let herself appear weak or vulnerable or softer or less than _The Toughest Girl in the World and Don't You Forget It, Buster_, even when it meant not showing her sisters how much she cared, arguing with Blossom when she knew her cooler-headed sister was right, or calling Pop "Professor" and shunning his affection when she wanted to call him Pop from the very first and cuddle into his lap whenever she wanted, just like Bubbles did.

She and Blossom had eventually broken their sister of calling the Professor "Dad" through what she could now admit to herself was an underhanded and cruel campaign of embarrassment and belittlement they both deserved to be beaten six ways from Wednesday for, but couldn't ever change anything else about her they thought was "weak" or "immature."

Buttercup smirks, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat. _Good for Bubbles._ But just as quickly she remembers where she is and _why_, eyes filling with tears as she presses her lips together to keep from making any noise. Sure, she gets to call the Professor "Pop" (Blossom calls him "Dad"), and cuddle him whenever she wants, but she only manages to stop being such an _idiot_ after Him throws her and Blossom and Pop out of Townsville and makes it so they can't get back in and _no one in the world even seems to remember Townsville is there_ (except Dexter, and that doesn't really count because he has a giant lab hidden under his house he used to figure out he was being hypnotized and _boy_ his parents are stupid not to notice it and just how did it _get_ _there_, anyway?) and her stomach twists and she's having a cold sweat and she has to fight not to throw up just like every time she lets herself think: _Oh, God, it's been nearly two years and he still has Bubbles_.

Pop's a little grayer around the temples every day now, his eyes nearly always bloodshot and surrounded by dark rings, his face haunted and terrified when he thinks no one's looking, and she's ashamed to say that she and Blossom only manage to start acting like proper sisters again and not bickering nutjobs who get into fights every other day after they finally both lose it and tear into each other until Buttercup's got a broken leg and Blossom's gotta regrow half her teeth. Buttercup realizes for the first time how _they're_ the immature ones and just how hard Bubbles worked holding them together when Pop, finding them sprawled out and twitching in the back yard of their rented house, gets about ten seconds into ripping into them for almost killing each other for real before dropping to his knees and cradling them both to his chest and _crumbling_ right then and there in a way Buttercup has done her very best to forget because it is still the most horrifying thing she has _ever_ seen.

She's still guilty when she thinks about it, knows Blossom is too. Bubbles would be ashamed of them both. _Furious_ with them both for hurting him, for hurting themselves, just because she wasn't there to be the peacemaker they shouldn't have needed. Didn't realize they needed until she was gone. And they would deserve everything she would throw at them. More than she would throw at them, because Bubbles always pulls her punches.

They never speak of it again, but from that day they swear things will change. _Have_ to change, if only to hold their rapidly imploding father together and prepare themselves to get their sister back. That means hours and hours of training in Dexter's simulator, because Pop promises every day he and Dexter get that much closer to figuring out how to break into the energy dome Him dropped over Townsville and they won't keep Bubbles waiting a moment longer than they have to. And things _are_ better. They've found a balance she likes to think Bubbles would be proud of, even if they'll always be more Betty and Veronica than Barbie and Stacy … not that she ever plays with Barbie or reads _Archie_, and if you ever say otherwise she is happy to introduce your face to the nearest pile of dirt, so there.

At least the dome is still there when Dexter's drone planes scan the area where Townsville is every week and pick up the strange energy distortion right before they explode (_Dexter goes through a lot of robot planes_). Him's still … playing with her sister (_Ohgodohgodwhat'shedonetoher?_), otherwise he wouldn't be keeping them out, so at least they know Bubbles is still alive. She tries to take comfort in this, reminding herself that Bubbles is stronger and tougher and braver than they ever gave her credit for, even when she's not acting _hardcore_. But there's only one of her and she's so gentle and innocent and she's alone without anyone and Him's too powerful for the fight to ever be fair. She remembers Him's mind games, his promise to have fun with his "new toy" as he sent them away while Bubbles screamed in terror, and tries not to think about how frightened Bubbles must be, how vulnerable she has to be without someone a bit more vicious to protect her, or someone to help her plan to get through a fight.

Once, a year ago, she let her mind wander and found herself wondering if Him had already beaten Bubbles and was just playing around with her, like a cat toying with a mouse. Then she realized what she was thinking, threw up into Dexter's Mom's rosebushes, whispered an apology to Bubbles for doubting her, and never thought that again. Ever.

Together they're invincible, but none of them were ever supposed to have to go solo, and Buttercup thinks her sister, who would do anything to avoid hurting another person or thing, even when they're _evil_ and _deserve_ it, the least suited of the three of them to standing alone. Then she feels guilty, because Bubbles never gives up when it really counts, and right now she's sure Him, whatever he's doing, is playing for keeps.

Bubbles won't ever back down.

And maybe that scares Buttercup the most, even as it fills her with pride, because she's not stupid and realized years ago Him spends most of his time attacking their minds, not their bodies ('cause as much as she doesn't want to admit it, he could beat them to death any time he wanted), and either he'll scar Bubbles some way, or she'll have to change herself into something new to survive. She has no idea _what_, and can't get Blossom to understand. (Blossom is convinced everything will go back to the way it was when this is all over. Buttercup thinks she's in denial.) It's been too long, and it'll be like when you stretch a rubber band too far and it's never quite as tight and springy as it used to be. Nothing Him touches is ever quite the same again, and he's had nearly two years. Buttercup shudders.

_It doesn't matter._ Bubbles will always be _Bubbles_, she's sure, even if Him scuffs her up a bit and they have to patch her up. She'll always be Buttercup's baby sister and some day they'll be together again and kick Him's butt 'cause they're the Powerpuff Girls and nothing can stop them.

This thought comforts Buttercup and she clings onto it and lets it relax her. Sleep reaches to claim her again, and she smiles. "G'night Bubbles," she whispers, letting herself imagine her sister can hear. "I love you."

**22. ****Fire**** (Sally Grisham {Original Character})**

Sally huddles in her locked closet, eyes blurring with tears as she clamps her hand over her squirming baby brother's mouth, her own lips pressed together to prevent slightest peep. Too little to sit up on his own, he wiggles in her lap, confused and probably more frightened of her strange behavior than the crashing and screaming downstairs. Her mother's screams are filled with pain and cries for mercy, and she's grown up with Bubbles Utonium protecting them all from Him and knows what fighting sounds like. Now, she thinks, only able to stave off her sudden panic because the slightest sound means giving away where she's hiding her helpless baby brother, she knows what a beating sounds like, too. Her stepfath -- _Jerry_, that … that … _thing_ her Momma married -- had been extra angry all day, his breath stinking more of alcohol than usual. The promise of violence just behind his eyes had been even closer to the surface than usual, and she had the good sense to disappear with little Jake when Momma had gotten home, wary of their latest fight.

She only makes out Jerry screaming something about an "affair" (whatever that is) and her Momma's denials, and knows something different is happening, something _bad_, and has just locked herself in her closet when the hitting starts. Jerry's never hit Momma before. Sally knows she should call for help. If she's ever in trouble, Bubbles will hear even if she whispers, Momma said. But she's scared 'cause Bubbles isn't here and Jerry _is_, and what if he somehow hears her and finds her and Jake can't even sit up and he's so _fragile_, and --

The picture frames rattle on the walls with the sound of the blast, everything is silent except Jerry's yelling for her as he tromps up the stairs, and then Sally screams, because she grew up in Townsville so of _course_ she knows a gunshot and she can't hear Momma anymore and she nearly drops Jake and he's crying and she doesn't know what to do because _Momma's shot and hurt (dead?) and_ -- she curls over, clutching Jake to her middle, and loses her dinner into the box where she keeps her church shoes. _Oh,_ some far away part of her thinks, _Momma will be so mad._ Then her brain jumpstarts and she remembers where she is just in time to realize Jerry's tromping feet are _in her room_ and she's _screaming_ and he's _coming for them because she gave away where they were_ and _Momma's hurt (dead)._

She can't think of anything else to do but curl over Jake as he roars her name, still unable to find her voice even to tell her brother she loves him because she _has_ to tell him because _they're going to die_ and he's so scared and Jerry's _ripped the door off the wall_ and she shuts her eyes--

Sally hears, all at once, glass shatter like a baseball flying through a window, metal groaning, the clatter of something heavy being thrown against the floor, and a masculine grunt as flesh smacks against flesh and something cracks and something else flops heavily against the far wall as the closet door falls onto the carpet with a thump.

For a heartbeat, all is silent, and Sally opens her eyes.

Jerry's huge, muscular form is slumped against a dented wall, cracked and shattered bits of plaster and paint covering him like powder on the world's ugliest donut, blood and teeth dribbling from his mouth as his chest rises and falls in moaning breaths. His lower jaw is smashed. She stares and him and tries and fails to feel anything but relief. His eyes are closed, and he doesn't look like he's getting up. The stubbliest shotgun she's ever seen lays on the other side of the room, peeking out from just under her bed, the open end bent and crumpled so there's nowhere for the bullet to come out. The metal is crumpled and curved like one of those energy drink bottles with the spots for your fingers to curve around. On the far wall, her window is broken; shattered glass liters the carpet.

And there, floating in the middle of the room, her back to the closet, is Bubbles Utonium, who came to her class last year and helped her build a baking soda volcano for science class, who's brave and smart and compassionate and everything Sally wants to be, gloved hands fisted at her sides, shoulders quaking -- living with Jerry, Sally gets very good at recognizing signs of anger, and shaking shoulders and clenched fists mean the most terrible fury, but she isn't afraid. Not of Bubbles. One of Bubbles' hands is covered in (_Jerry's_) blood. Her clothes are gray, sooty, and kinda burnt, her skin and hair streaked with ash, she reeks of smoke, and Sally suddenly remembers from the news that she had been called earlier to help put out a fire at a meat processing plant.

Jake burbles, and Bubbles turns towards them, and Sally can see her face, twisted with pain and sadness and that horrible fury (which is really weird, because her eyes are blank and empty and Momma always said looking into someone's eyes was how you knew how they felt). Sally feels like she should say _something_ and opens her mouth, but all she hears is this screeching, keening noise and it takes her a moment to realize it's herself.

She blinks and Bubbles is on her knees in front of her, the box with her ruined shoes and what's left of dinner pushed off to the side. "He can't hurt you now," she whispers, laying a gentle hand -- both her hands are clean now, when did that happen? -- on Sally's shoulder. "Not ever again. You're safe. The police are coming." She's smiling reassuringly at Sally, but it's strained, the way Momma's smile gets strained when Jerry's about to come home. Sally blinks, remembering Momma again and wondering why her brain keeps trying to forget her as a cold lump forms in her stomach.

"Is Momma safe?" The words are out of her mouth before Sally even realizes she's speaking.

Bubbles doesn't answer right away, but something in her face wavers, and Sally thinks of the shotgun, and the sound of the gunshot, and _Oh, oh … Momma_, and the world is spinning and getting dark around the edges and she hears the keening noise again and she's shaking and Bubbles is lifting Jake into one of her super-strong arms and that's good 'cause Bubbles' grip is steady and not shaky like hers so Sally doesn't have to worry anymore about accidentally dropping him and Bubbles pulls her into her lap with her other arm and she buries her face in her smokey hair 'cause it's really dark now and getting darker and everything's spinning so fast and she feels something wet and warm drip on the back of her head and ...


	5. Snapshots: Bubbles on the Wind 24 to 27

AN: Four more fics that aren't one sentence at all. Again, all set before chapter 1 unless marked with an asterisk **(*)**, in Bubbles' POV unless otherwise noted. Speech appearing in brackets indicates Bubbles isn't speaking English. _**Note:**_ Number 24 is told from the POV of a crossover character. The first person who guesses the fandom she comes from in a review gets to pick a POV character for me to use in the next set. **Note 2:** Re-uploaded to fix formatting errors and re-add missing text in **Fall**, which FFN stripped out for no reason I can determine. Sorry about that.

**24. ****Mask**** (*) (Theresa Lamaise)**

When she was smaller, sometimes Theresa got bored and daydreamed of being a comicbook superheroine. Oh, she was perfectly happy, even if the Ashleys constantly made fun of her for being so small and none of her other schoolmates really seemed to pay her any attention except for Gus and his friends, but sometimes she liked to imagine what it might be like to be one of those strong, invincible, brave women who flew without wings, stood up to dozens of bad guys with a grin, and always came out on top, no matter what happened. She wanted to have that perfect confidence, instead of being the little meek kid the older bullies went to steal lunch money from since she was only about as tall as their arm.

Now, she'd like to say she doesn't know why she never really fantasized about being like one of the world's _real_ superheroes, not counting that most of them are big, macho, kinda stuck up _guys_, but she'd be lying. She always knew about the Powerpuff Girls - everyone did, they were all over the news - but they were _real_: they always beat the bad guy, but they had chores and school and bedtime and rules like any other kid. And it was more than that. Something in the back of her mind made her uncomfortable with idolizing them the way she did Wonder Woman and Batgirl and Rogue.

Then, one day Theresa was waiting in Townsville Airport to fly home with her Aunt Flo when a giant red _monster clown_ - with a voice like rotten honey and eyes so burning with hate and crazy that when Theresa saw him that first day she nearly wet herself - appeared and trapped her and everyone else in the city so he could kill them all 'cause he was bored, or … something. Just wipe them all out like their lives didn't mean anything. She cried for days, and refused to leave their hotel for two weeks, afraid of being gobbled by a demon. It didn't take Theresa long to admit to herself _exactly_ why she had tried to ignore the Powerpuff Girls. They - _Bubbles_ fights demons who want to kill everyone, and unlike the comics, the demons can win.

Theresa's lucky: she's never personally been attacked by a monster. She's never had to watch a battle, even though the shaking ground and the terrifying sounds of deadly fights - monsters (and too often, a girl, about her age) howling in pain, flesh smacking against flesh with window-shattering force, the terrible stillness when the battle ends and everyone wonders if Bubbles is still with them - still come to her in nightmares that send her scrambling to her Aunt Flo's room more often than she'll ever admit. They're in the same class at school, and even though they've never spoken, Bubbles is always _there_, and Theresa can't help watching her. She's in the lunch room, on the playground, slumped in a desk at the back of the classroom, everywhere. Theresa's seen her bruised, cut, battered almost down to nothing. Remembers her pretty blue eyes, and knows why they're gray and empty now. Seen Robin Schneider, pale and miserable and afraid even more than the rest of them, hunched over in her wheelchair eating lunch alone after the news announces that Bubbles got stabbed through the stomach and had to be taken to the hospital and the doctors aren't sure if she'll live till the next morning.

Theresa doesn't think even Major Glory would have lasted this long. Part of her is proud that one of the world's toughest superheroes is a girl.

But knowing the world is full of such wickedness that they need Bubbles makes Theresa's stomach clench and quiver and her heart ache when she thinks about it too much. She can't imagine doing the same thing herself, standing alone between the city and total doom without the promise that she gets to win in the end thanks to some benevolent writer who fixes everything at the last minute.

She feels like a coward sometimes; her father would be ashamed.

But she's stayed alive. She's safe if she's invisible: head down, shoulders drawn together, so quiet people forget she's there, always out of the way, always knowing where to find shelter in case the city alarm goes off. She even plays cello in music class; the instrument the snobs say no one notices unless it's missing. She's spent the last year and a half purposefully avoiding Bubbles. The Powerpuff has plenty of friends, after all.

Doesn't she?

Robin's been out with pneumonia for two weeks now, after she and her parents got caught out in the rain for three hours, and Theresa never noticed it before, but no one else really hangs out with Bubbles. Sure, almost everyone adores her and speaks to her when they see her, but they keep their distance, like they're nervous … or afraid. Mitch Mitchelson seems to try a little harder, but it's always really awkward; rumor is he liked Buttercup better and that makes things weird for them. And that snit Princess makes sure to take digs at her whenever she can. She's worse than all the Ashleys put together.

For the last two weeks no one's gone near her and she's spent her recesses slumped on a swingset doing that listening-to-the-world thing, looking worried and miserable, and Theresa doesn't think she can take it anymore. Everyone says Bubbles watches her foster mother like a paranoid hawk, just waiting for something bad to happen. Theresa's Momma and Dad always taught her to face challenges head on, and she would've done something sooner but -

There's a demon after Bubbles, and he's never hesitated to taunt her after a tragedy: he took her sight from her just because he knew how much she loved all the colors in the world; he paralyzed her best friend just to prove she wasn't fast enough. Trying to be her friend means getting on his radar.

Or she could keep going like she has been, wearing her carefully built perfect wallflower mask. Leave Bubbles alone.

And then it hits her. _Alone. Cut off from having real friends._ Isn't that just what the demon wants? He's probably the one that made Robin sick. He's tried everything _else_ to make Bubbles crack.

It's so clear now. That's _exactly_ what he's trying to do. _I'm helping him. We're all helping him, every time we pull away 'cause we're afraid._

Theresa loves her Aunt Flo, but the demon took her away from her parents and her grandma and all her friends. She constantly tries not to wonder if this is the day when she can't hide from the monsters and they finally come to eat her. He's destroyed her life, and she won't let him use her for anything, or keep her from doing something she wants - _needs_ - to do, ever again.

She steps forward with sure feet, even as her hand twitches, wishing for a comforting bag of corn chips, 'cause she's suddenly nervous that maybe Bubbles won't want to bother with her since she's not Robin, but then she's there, plopping herself into an empty swing, and Bubbles turns her head, a curious look on her face. Theresa feels her eyes drawn towards the adorable little purple octopus clip holding a thick lock of blonde hair over the edge of her face, hiding the pale scar running from her temple to her jaw from when something tried to _cut her face off_. The same something that left the hair-thin scar across the bridge of her nose, if the rumors are true. Theresa represses a shiver. It's too late to back out now.

"Hello, Theresa," Bubbles says quietly, and at first Theresa's creeped out before she figures that someone with super hearing probably knows everybody's name, and the sound of how they move. Superman did in the comics. "Is something wrong?"

Theresa blinks, pressing her fingertips together. Was Bubbles _that_ unused to people coming up to her that didn't need help? She takes a deep breath. "N-no, no. I was just … you looked kinda bored and I just thought maybe you might like to play some … jacks?" Theresa blinks again. That didn't come off nearly so cool and confident as she had hoped. _At least I didn't stutter. Much._

Bubbles not-stares at her for what feels like minutes, but can't be more than a few seconds. "Seriously?" She sounds hopeful, and Theresa wonders how long it's been since someone besides Robin or Mitch has asked her to just _play_ with them. She hears herself giggling a little and nods, before remembering Bubbles can't see. She mentally scolds herself and is about to speak when Bubbles actually _smiles_, a quick, happy flash of white, perfect teeth. "Sure." _Huh? How'd she know? She can't hear _that_ well … can she?_ She still sounds a bit surprised, but Theresa tries not to think about it.

Bubbles floats off of the swing, and Theresa _still_ thinks that's one of the most amazing things she'll ever see, and but then stops suddenly, turning to her.

"Say, if I accidentally break your jacks set, you're not gonna suddenly decide to become a super-villain, are you?" She asks, completely seriously. "It's kinda happened before. … I thought I should double check."

Theresa gapes, wondering if this was a good idea after all. "I … wasn't planning on it?"

Bubbles smiles; she's not showing her teeth this time, but it's still there. "Cool."

Theresa grins. She's on her way to making a new friend and the warm feeling in her chest makes her sure she's done the right thing.

She tries not to wonder exactly what she's gotten herself into.

**Strength**** (Ms Keane) (*) (Takes place at least 3-4 months after ****Mask****)**

"Evenin', Sandy! Thanks for saving me a seat."

Sandra jumped a little in her seat, tearing her eyes away from the auditorium's main stage and it's drawn curtains to look at her companion. His green eyes sparkled with mirth as he ran his fingers through tousled red hair. _Definitely a cutie. Too bad he isn't available. … Nice to look, though._ "You know that's not my name, Ray. For _twenty years_ you've known that's not my name." She shook her head, unable to keep a small smile from her face. "Shouldn't you be with the other faculty?"

He shook his head. "And have to deal with Lisa flirting with me all night?" He shook his head. "No thanks. Besides, I wanna see my kids bring down the house up close. That's why I teach music, you know. To live vicariously through my tiny minions of rock." He shook his head. "And, you know, nurture a healthy learning environment, and all that other jazz we're supposed to be in favor of so we don't get fired, but mostly I'm in it for the minions. _Oh_, hey! Did I tell you we finally raised enough money for that used stage laser light disco ball after our last bake sale? And Marty's gonna get his shop class at the high school to build us a fog machine. The holiday concert is gonna be _excellent_ this year."

_And this is why we don't let you near the PTA meetings. You're having way more fun than the rest of us. Of course, I can have fun, too... _She shook her head to hide her smirk. "You're dodging the subject, Ray, and making me jealous that I don't get paid to have small children reenact my KiSS Army fantasies. I still don't understand why you won't just let Lisa down gently. Tell her you're not interested. … And if you make some crack about being irresistible, I will personally make sure my most tone deaf student makes it into your chorus class just as soon as they get to elementary school."

Ray winced, entirely too dramatically. "You really know how to punch below the belt, Sandy." He paused, looking uncomfortable. "Seriously, though, with Lisa - I'd just hate for things to get, y'know … awkward." He paused, then lowered his voice and tried to sound husky. And failed. "Wanna tell me more about your KiSS Army fantasies, Sandy?" She snorted and elbowed him, in a not quite friendly way. "Guess not," he wheezed.

Sandra suddenly felt guilty. "Lisa grew up with you," she smiled, "just like me. She's not gonna turn on you. … She _is_ going to be very disappointed you're more likely to be her competition than anything else. Especially with those pants, which I may break into your house and steal at any time."

His cheeks flushed. "Surely you think there's more to me than tight pants."

She giggled. "You've got the singing thing to go with the tight pants. Like … Tom Jones … with Carrot Top's hair. … I'm not helping, am I?"

"...Please tell me you did not just compare my hair to Carrot Top's. … I think I may die. Or get my head shaved." He looked genuinely stricken, and Sandra suddenly remembered the dozens of hair products he kept in his bathroom; some of them even glowed in the dark.

_Right. Change the subject, quick._ "Focus on the Tom Jones part. … So, the girls are up next. Any chance you can tell me what they're planning? I haven't been able to get a thing out of Bubbles. She's even hauled her drums to Theresa's basement." Sandra smiled, thinking of the quiet, shy little girl that had decided her Bubbles could use another friend. Not from Townsville, she brought a dose of _normal_ to her daughter and Robin that no one who grew up with monsters and master criminals and a crime rate that was downright terrifying if you stopped and thought about it could hope to match. It had been her idea to enter the school district's talent show, _"cause you are actually good at stuff besides beating up monsters, y'know. Besides, they won't let Robin and I in with just a trumpet and a cello. It'll be fun!"_

_And here we are._ She suppressed a sigh. _I wouldn't blame you, sweetie, but I really hope you don't run away when you get caught up in the doom that follows my girl around._

He chuckled. "Dunno. They practiced a few routines. All of it's good, but I'm not promising anything. They're going to rock, and probably get beaten by some overweight talentless kid juggling hams."

She groaned. "I can't believe you - we were ten, Ray. Aren't you ever going to let that go? And shouldn't you not be taking sides, Mister Music Man?"

"No, probably not. But those three are the only students I have in this shindig, so I'm not rooting against any of my own. Totally ethical." He peered at her as the lights began to dim. "And one other thing: you and I sang _opera_, Sandy_._ We got beaten by a _fat kid tossing frozen pig thighs in the air._ As a teacher and patron of the fine arts, of _course_ I can't just let that go. There's only one kind of hamming it up that's appropriate for the stage, sister, and that _ain't_ it."

Okay, so she was still kinda miffed about Ham Boy, too, but she wasn't going to admit it when she was pushing thirty. "Your therapist must love you," she whispered playfully, punching him the shoulder. "Now shut up. It's starting." Bubbles and her friends would be going first. No one had come out and said it, but Sandra was pretty sure they were letting them go ahead of everyone else in case Bubbles had to leave in the middle of the show to save them from (_themselves?_) Him's latest idea of fun and games.

The curtains began to draw back, the noise of the crowd dulled to a low murmur, and he grinned. "Shutting up. This should be awesome."

As the floodlights lit the stage, Sandra caught sight of Bubbles and her friends. Her daughter floated serenely behind her drums, one foot resting on the pedal for the bass, twirling her drumsticks absently between her white-gloved fingers, blond hair falling in ringlets that Sandra had strategically locked in place with transparent hair pins to hide the worst of her facial scarring. (_"Mommy," she had whispered, "can ya do something to hide my … my ..." She tossed her hair. "Please?"_) For once, she wore large black sunglasses (_"Can you get me something like on the Blues Brothers, Mommy?"_), and Sandra made herself not think about the way Bubbles did everything possible to minimize people's attention to her body for the show, since she wanted them all focused on her friends and their music. Instead she ran her eyes over the clothing Bubbles had saved up to get: white linen slacks and a matching sport coat, a powder blue silk dress shirt: all perfectly pressed, crisp, and shiningly clean in the stage lights. How they had managed _that_ in Townsville, Sandra had no idea, especially when everything was constantly trying to ki- _Focus, Sandra_. Even as she noticed how adorable and excited Robin and Theresa looked in their matching blue dresses and white shoes - Robin perched in a straight-backed wooden chair to Bubbles' left fiddling with her trumpet with a serious look on her face and Theresa smiling out from behind the huge bulk of her cello on Bubbles' right, bow clenched in her small hand, looking more than a little surprised to be in front of so many people - Sandra could admit that she only had eyes for daughter.

For the first time in more than a year, Bubbles didn't look like Townsville's lone weathered, twitchy defense in the increasingly desperate fight against depraved, immortal demonic tyranny. Sandra looked and saw a normal, happy little girl, grinning, giggling and whispering the stage fright away from her friends. The joy Him had done his level best to eradicate from Bubbles' heart danced across her face as she tapped her drumsticks over her head to count them in, and Sandra smiled. She stole a glance at the judges' table as Queen began to fill the air, Bubbles' voice nothing at all like Freddie Mercury but rousing nonetheless, thought of the likelihood of surprise ham jugglers, and dismissed Him - and the judges - from her mind.

_"The show must go on …"_

**Ice**** (*) (Boomer JoJo) **_**(Some subtle differences from canon implied here, mostly to do with the timing of when the Rowdy Ruff Boys fought the Girls the first time, and the resolution of that fight. Tweaks for the sake of realism and internal consistency. Also, in this universe the RRB were not seen in Townsville again after "The Boys are Back in Town.")**_

It was always so much fun to be evil, Boomer thought, trying as always to flex his frozen fingers, before he and his brothers were actually, y'know, _evil_. Sure, when Dad - _Mojo;_ _that furry bastard is nobody's father_ - when _Mojo_ created them and set them Townsville, they tore into the city without a second thought. Destroyed what they wanted. Took what they wanted. Bullied who they wanted. Nobody could stop them, Mojo let them do what they wanted, and life was good.

Then _they_ showed up. Blossom. Buttercup. _Bubbles._ Silly little girls that had the … the - _Damn, I miss Brick. He'd have some freaking fifty-dollar word for it_ - _calzones_ to float there and say they had to stop, just 'cause it was wrong. Well, no, wait. _Blossom_ wanted them to stop 'cause it was wrong, _and wouldn't freaking shut the hell up about it;_ Buttercup wanted to use their behavior as an excuse to kick their asses; and Bubbles didn't really wanna fight them at all, but wasn't going to let them hurt anyone else, even if she had to turn them into pretzels. He and his brothers _were_ being stupid and sloppy about their _fun_ and looking back on it he's surprised they didn't maim or kill somebody by accident, not counting the hundreds of minor injuries they gave out like balloons at a clown party.

_Fucking clowns._

Maybe if he'd been smarter, or cleverer, or someone … someone who wasn't him, he would have noticed then the differences in the way Bubbles and her sisters thought about things, but hell, he was _five_, and _pissed_ because these little goody-goody sissy girls were trying to tell he and his brothers what to do, and it wasn't too long before he found himself in the middle of a huge fist-tossing session with Bubbles.

He smirked - or tried to, before reminding himself for the freaking 10,000th time that the only thing he could move were his damn eyeballs (what he wouldn't give to be able to _blink_ just once). _Little sissies my ass. Damn, they can fight. 'Specially Bubbles; Brick's an idiot. If she had decided to stop pulling her punches, she'd have had my ass that first day. Would've had it anyway, if we hadn't pulled our little dirty trick and left them in a smoking crater. Burritos. Damn, that was lame. Shouldn'ta worked, probably. Got lucky._

And now, looking back (because honestly, there wasn't much else to do), he was certain _that_ was the moment when he and his brothers had proved that they may have been brutal, vicious little bullies, but they weren't really evil. Mojo wanted the girls dead. What'd he and his brothers do? Humiliated 'em and left 'em to lick their wounds in a huge hole in the ground, sure the _little sissies_ would be too scared to try again. _Yeah, right._ If they'd wanted 'em dead for sure, it would've been easy. Just pound 'em into jelly while they were clocked out.

His body tried to shudder, and he fought down bile. He knew from experience throwing up without being able to open your mouth was … uncool. At least he didn't need to breathe. Sorta. _It would've been so _easy_. Gotta focus: not evil. We're assholes and jerks and probably bastards, too, but we're not evil. Or we weren't. Damn._

He felt a new wave of anger. _Man, _fuck_ Mojo. I've figured out we weren't ever anything but weapons to him, not like the girls really _are_ old Utonium's daughters, but he _could'a_ made our bodies sturdy enough to survive the … excitement? The _whatever the hell_ it was we felt when we got our first kisses. Can't believe we nearly _exploded._ What the _fuck_, man? That can't be the real reason we almost blew, can it? … I wish I was smart. Or really _had_ exploded._

Death, he sometimes admitted, floating alone and frozen in the dark, might well have been better than this._ And I might be stupid, but I _know_ that's not healthy._ It was beside the point either way. Him had "saved" them from their untimely deaths … somehow (he learned quickly how stupid it was to question demons).

_"I have plaaaaaaaans for you, boys. We're going to have so much fuuuuun together."_ Since the very _moment_ those words left the demon's lips Boomer has wished he had taken the chance to fly away, as fast as his body and his powers could carry him. He was always the swiftest of his brothers, especially in the air. He might have made it. But that would have meant abandoning Brick and Butch, and he couldn't. He just _couldn't_.

He loved his brothers so much, and had never said it. The Rowdy Ruff Boys didn't do that mushy shit. He was _sure_ the Girls did. He was surprised that realization made him more glad than jealous.

Super memory is a bitch when it lets you remember the … the … he doesn't have words to describe the _wrongness_ of the slimy tentacles shooting out of Him's claws as they wriggled down his and Brick's and Boomer's ears as they all screamed in terror and pain. He does remember hearing Him laughing madly as he felt some unnamable something that he's now pretty sure was his (small, admittedly crappy) conscience being forced down and locked away as Him pumped their minds full of noise and hate and twisted and pulled until he knew nothing but how good it felt to make people hurt, and how they must always, _always_ obey the Master.

Then he amped up their powers with his magic and set them on the Girls. Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup had thought nothing had changed. And what remained of his conscience, locked away and beaten down, watched in horror as he and his brothers taught them they were wrong. It would've been simple to kill them in those first few seconds; Him had pushed so much of his power into them any _one_ of them could probably have wiped out all three of them. But that wasn't what _the Master_ wanted.

"_Make them heeeeeeeelpless. Beat the hope out of them and uuuuuuusssseee them as you would toys. Make them beeeeeeeeeg for death. And then, at the end, I shall offer them the chance to jooooooooin us. Or die."_

And they had, without feeling or regret. Every kind of pain they could give, every humiliation they could imagine, every one of the Girls' worst fears twisted and made real and used against them. _We tortured 'em. For hours. And I can't remember feeling anything but … but … a rush. It was _fun_. Fuck. Still don't know what Him meant when he was complaining that we weren't old enough for the really interesting stuff. Damned bastard. What more could we have done to 'em than … than ..._ Even as the gorge rises in his throat and tears brim in his frozen eyes, he can't help thinking: _You really _must_ be the heroes. Anybody else we'd have done that to would'a killed us outta revenge when they were free._ He knows that Bubbles, at least, was terrified of them after what they did to her, though that would probably just make her fight harder. That hurt, for some reason.

Now, he can take comfort in the fact they failed, that the Girls found the huge, gaping hole in Him's plan and used the last of their strength to drive a Mack truck straight through it, just like always. Him had snatched he and his brothers back up, still unable to _feel_ anything, like their souls were bricked up behind a wall, and sealed them in the black, massive crystals deep in his lair, where they rested still. Boomer can remember feeling real fear as Him's rage hit him like a thousand sledgehammers and a rabid mongoose, then nothing, just a black void and a not a single thought.

He doesn't know how long Him's magic kept him asleep, but one thing about having the superpowers he shares with his brothers that no one else seems to think about (aside from the Girls, probably), is how you're really, _really_ in tune with your own body. He has always been able to tell without much thought how long he's been awake. And since he hasn't been able to sleep since he awoke, the feeling of the binding magic in the crystal weaker and fitful but paralyzing still, like Him had sucked most of the power away for something else, he knew it had been about nineteen months since whatever happened to give him back his awareness. And whatever it was must'a been _huge_, and taken nearly all of Him's attention, 'cause not only was he awake, but his conscience was back, and he would've wept with joy if he could've, macho-ness be damned.

Boomer really hoped Him was pulling on all the magic he had because the Girls had finally had it with his shit and had decided to kick his ass from one end of the earth to the other. _Man, that'd be sweeeeeet._

Even the guilt over what they had done when they'd been Him's hate puppets was worth it, because it was a _feeling_, and one he certainly _deserved_. Maybe he could even tell the Girls he was sorry before they pounded his face in.

'Course, he had to get out of this damned crystal prison thing, first. He _knew_ his brothers weren't free, 'cause they would rescue him if they were. They'd never leave him behind, not ever. For all he knew, enough of Him's magic was still in their crystals that they were fast asleep, with no consciences, Him's hate still flooding their minds. When _that_ idea had first occurred to him, a few days after he'd woken up, the horror of it had been enough to make him scream loudly through his closed mouth for hours, until his throat was raw, until he realized if Him heard him he'd likely put him to sleep again.

He had realized then he might well be the only one even half-free from the demon. That meant it was his responsibility to save his brothers, so he had to get _free_.

Somehow.

So here he was, still stuck, using all his strength to will his fingertips to move. After weeks of trying to strain every muscle he had like a crazy person and getting nothing for his efforts but cramps and stiffness, he'd remembered an old cartoon he'd seen, way back from the 1960s or something, where Bugs Bunny had bungled up this huge Martian death machine thing that was supposed to be indestructible by throwing a pebble into the works. That had given him the idea to start small: if he could get his fingertips moving, then he could free his fingers, then his hands …

Yeah. Great idea at the time, and sometimes he even felt like something might be about to give, but he wasn't any closer to being free and it had been _so long_ and -

_**Crack.**_

Boomer JoJo's heart skipped a beat as his hands stilled, shock washing over him. Had he … ? He tried wiggling his fingers again, and whooped with joy when his left thumb moved, ever so slightly. Well, tried to whoop. It came out more like a creepy, stifled moan, but he didn't care.

_It worked. Took too damn long, but I'm wearin' this thing down. Yeah! I'm gonna get free, Him, you just wait, then I'll … I'll … huh._

He realized suddenly he'd never thought this far ahead. _Okay. Keep it simple, stupid._ He couldn't fight Him on his own, and he couldn't quickly break the crystals holding his brothers. He'd have to escape and get help. _The only help worth gettin' is the Girls, and they gotta hate our guts. There's no way they'll - Bubbles. Yeah. That's gotta work._ Blossom might not be able to see them as anything but criminals (and probably wouldn't be able to stop speeching at him long enough to listen to him beg, which he was totally willing to do), and Buttercup would punch his face in given the chance, especially after what he and his brothers did to Bubbles the last time they met. But Bubbles - and he was not too much of a macho jackass to admit noticing this - was different. It was so clear now, looking back on that first fight. She was … _pure_, he guessed. She didn't want anyone to hurt or suffer from evil, and no matter what they had done, he and his brothers were being hurt by the most evil _thing_ there was.

He would beg her to let him explain everything, and he would tell the truth, and she would listen, and even if she really wanted to pound him for what he and his brothers did, she would help. She had to. As much as he'd been disgusted (or enraged) by it at the time, he'd never met anyone who was so sweet, or cared so much, even about the people who tried to hurt her. She _had_ to listen. She _had_ to help, even if she couldn't convince her sisters. If she didn't …

_If she won't, no one will. … Can't think about it now. Gotta escape._ He went back to working his thumb against his crystal prison with gusto, thinking of how he could convince Bubbles to help him. For the briefest moment, he found his mind wandering towards thoughts of seeing the only pair of eyes in the world that were as blue as his. _… Weird. Whatever._ _Brick … Butch … I'm gonna get out, and get help, and we'll be free. I won't screw this up. You'll see._

**Fall** **(*)**

_I … I think I'm dyin'._ Blood burbled past her lips (_… Punctured lung … ? Oh, God ..._) as she spread her palms against the rain-soaked dirt and tried to push herself to her knees, succeeding in nothing more than flopping back down into a pool of her own blood as her slashed chest screamed in burning protest, more of her life pumping out of her torso and her ruined shoulder with every heartbeat. The determination she knows so well, the love for every living thing in Townsville that's always kept her going no matter how badly she's been trounced … she feels it at the edge of her mind, but it slips through her fingers every time she tries to grab it, and she can't seem to care. Why wasn't she dead yet? _'m a superhero. Should be hard ta' kill. … Not hard enough. … W-why am I here?_ With not a little mental effort, she managed to will her brain back into working at full tilt; if she's gonna die, she's gonna remember why.

* * *

The fog rolls away from her brain, and Bubbles remembers. Her chest is burning agony, and she wishes she didn't. The explosion filled her ears even as she grouched happily with Robbie and Theresa about losing at the talent show to some fat kid juggling frozen slabs of deer meat. _"Bubbles!"_ Mommy sounded panicked as she wheezed, the noise of coughing and screaming and moans of pain and _burning building_ blocking out nearly everything else. "..._Bomb_..._Help…"_ She was in the air even as she tossed her cell phone to Robin, telling her to call the fire department and send them to the preschool 'cause it was _on fire_. She was already hundreds of feet away before Robin had snatched the phone out of the air with a hissed "Gotcha," and a frightened, shocked "B-be careful" from Theresa. She wished they both carried phones of their own, just to be safe. Yeah, they're probably too young, _if they lived anywhere else_. She decided as she flew - because truly, she needed something else to think about to fight down her rising panic - to get Mommy to talk to their parents about it. Because Mommy _would_ be fine.

She can't really remember flying to the school, though she can still perfectly recall getting close enough for the smell of burning gasoline to hit her nostrils. A few quick sonar blasts and she knew half of Pokey Oaks was pretty much caved into rubble, and the other half was quickly becoming engulfed in flames, by the sound of it. Mommy had her students barricaded in the basement. Aside from a half dozen or so who were too close to the window and got burned - two of them really badly, from the scent and the way their blood is (or isn't) flowing, though she made a point not to think about _that_ yet, either - the most they seem to be in immediate danger from is suffocating from the smoke.

They needed her to save them. She _would_ save them. Her Mommy was there. She _had_ to. So she cleared her mind, took a deep breath, focused on what she needed to do: make a tunnel first, get everybody out. Then take out the fire if the trucks aren't here yet.

And that's what she did.

It had taken longer than she wanted, and more than once she wished she had Blossom's ice breath. She and Mommy had gotten everyone out through the tunnel she punched into the basement, but by the time the fire department arrived (_Thanks, Robin…_), the building supports were so far gone the school gave one final shudder and collapsed in on itself as she and Mommy held each other. No one had been killed, and that alone was a minor miracle, but one she wouldn't let herself enjoy until everyone was whole and out of the hospital. Mommy clutched her tightly even as the paramedics settled her onto a gurney and wrapped her burned legs and fitted her with a special mask that smelled of too-sweet oxygen to help her breathe. Bubbles felt like part of her childhood had just gone up in flames. _There's no goin' back to the way things were, I guess._ She was just about to climb in the ambulance after Mommy, who had to be hurtin' cause her students were hurt and Pokey Oaks had been her life _years_ before Bubbles was born, when an out of breath policeman ran up to her.

She had immediately tensed, waiting for trouble. Since Him had sealed them in the dome, Townsville's admittedly pathetic police force had been forced to shape up as the criminals got more and more desperate and it became clear Bubbles couldn't save them all without help. After they started running out of bullets for their guns, even as the bad guys seemed to always have plenty (_thanks, Him_), she had been _so proud_ of how the ones who didn't resign in fear, and bravely kept at it, and got in the best shape of their lives. _"You're not the only one sworn to protect and serve, kiddo_,_"_ the Police Commissioner had told her when they had talked, once, _"we just took a bit too much of a shove to remember. Hope you'll forgive us."_ She had told him he didn't owe her any apology; Townsville was a scary place, and she knew that. She was just glad they were all in it together. _"And you mean that even after the way we treated you and your sisters all those years, don't you?"_ He had laughed and shook his head like he couldn't believe she was a real person. _"Forgiveness must be one of your superpowers. Stay sharp."_ Maybe it was. But mostly, she knew the world was spun glass and snowflakes in her hands, and she didn't have the luxury of hanging onto anger for things that happened in the past if she didn't want to accidentally _shatter_ something. Or someone.

So she knew, as the officer - barely old enough not to be a boy anymore from the sound of his voice and the way his heart beat and blood moved - skidded to a stop in front of her, that he wasn't just in a mindless panic. Something was _wrong_. "Miss Utonium," she must have given him a funny look, because he had started again. "Bubbles. The Vice Principal over at Hawk Elementary just called the police. Robin Schneider and Theresa Lamaise never got on the bus this morning. We know Robin called the fire department about two minutes before you arrived here, but apparently you were the last to see … er … you were the last one with both of them. Do you know where they are?"

Without even having to think about it, Bubbles extended her hearing - previously drawn in close to let her deal with the details of a burning, half collapsed building and burrowing through rock and packed dirt deep underground - looking for the heartbeats of her best and oldest friend, and the sweet, normal, lonely little girl who had wormed her way into their lives because she didn't think they deserved to be alone.

One, two, three seconds, and Bubbles couldn't hear them _anywhere_. Her blood ran cold.

* * *

In ninety of the longest, most terror-filled minutes of her life, she covers every bit of Townsville's airspace, once, twice, three times over, the thousand million sounds in her ears all the more deafening for the two that are missing. She threatens all the local gang leaders and wannabes, not even caring when she makes a few of them wet themselves, and none of them have any idea where Robin and Theresa are. She's even searched the sewer system, with a GPS locator strapped to her belt and the voice of a kind, worried old Irish Power and Water Authority supervisor in her ear guiding her way, because Townsville's been subject to random monster and supervillian attacks since 1927, and the whole sewer system is reinforced with just enough vibration-absorbing duranium-steel alloy to make her hearing nearly useless underground.

How could they be lost? No one can get in and out of Townsville anymore. No one's ever completely disappeared from her hearing without … without dying. _And they're not dead._ It has to be the truth, because if it's not … if it's not …

Her brain is so desperate to get away from that thought that it struggles for any sort of new plan, however desperate. There's a chance she somehow missed them in the sewers. She'll go back and tear the whole thing apart if she has to. A whole layer of Townsville she can't hear …

_Places I can't hear…_

It hits her then that she's missed the obvious, and Blossom would be ashamed. She quickly shakes that thought: Blossom isn't here, and Bubbles long ago decided she can only do things her own way. _Been listenin' everywhere for ya'. Can't hear ya. What else can't I hear?_

Another flight over the city, laying down sonar blasts that she's always thought were more trouble than they were worth, letting them smash back into her skull until she's developing the beginnings of a splitting headache, and is more convinced than ever that they're nearly useless, but she can't stop. There should be something, somewhere, that doesn't vibrate like everything else around it, and when she finds it, there should be a gap in her hearing, some place where there _should_ be sound, even if it's only the noise of wind brushing against something solid, but there isn't.

No one's ever figured out how to block sound from her before. Doesn't mean no one can.

It only takes thirty-seven seconds to find what she's looking for, two vibrationless voids, coffin sized and shaped, on the ground in one of the Restricted Zones, near something vibrating like an empty car as her sonar slams into it. Even the craziest of criminals won't come to these places anymore, so severe is the damage from the battles Bubbles has waged with Him's varied and bloodthirsty demons. Her sonar, warbling and detail-less as it is, let's her pick out what has to be Robin's wheelchair, folded, tipped over, and forgotten near one of the coffins. Her breath catches.

She's on the ground within seconds, and looking back now, as she lay dying, she can admit her relief made her sloppy. She couldn't hear anything of what was inside either of the coffins, but scrabbled her hands across the nearest one looking for the lip of the lid, and threw it open, even as a voice in her head screamed _Trap! Trap!_

In the first half-second, her ears and her nose let her know she's found Robin, gagged and trying to scream, her heart hammering with panic and her blood flowing in patterns Bubbles' instincts and training recognize as bleeding (_blood everywhere_), bruises, cuts, and broken bones, patterns her experience has taught her mean _beating_, her legs jerking with uncontrollable spasms as her damaged nerves misfire. In the last half second, as she tries to pull herself back from the horror trying to wash over her, those same ears and nose scream warning that Mr Kratchett, recently fired elementary school teacher, smelling of too much alcohol and blood pumping wildly and breathing ragged as though he's taken too much meth-metha-_speed_ like she helped the police seize last month, is lying under Robbie, pinning her against him, then grabbing her, throwing her out of the coffin only to slam bodily into the other one and fall to the ground with a _crack _and a whimpering tangle of limbs.

Bubbles can go from zero to one-hundred miles per hour in less than a second when she runs; zero to three-hundred in the same time if she flies. A few seconds more, and she can brush against the sound-barrier without breaking a sweat. But every survival instinct, every reflex seemed to seize, as she tried and failed to understand this … _this_. _What-?_

Her brain registers the knife only after he's slammed it between her ribs, twisting savagely, and even as she tries to scream and just sort of gurgles, she hears his other hand come up, thumb pulling back the hammer of a -

The bullet slams into her shoulder, or maybe the forearm just below - _Oh, God, it hurtshurtshurts_ - and she can feel the bone break even as she's thrown back off the knife, cordite and sulfur filling her nose as blood rises up her throat and her innate sense of self tells her something is _very_ wrong in her chest, even as she knows he's somehow gotten hold of Antidote-X laced weapons and vibranium sheets the police promised her they had destroyed. _How…?_

And so here she is. Her lung is punctured. She's been shot. She is going to die. Because Mr Kratchett, who even now is standing above her and ranting and zapping her with a cattle prod she's still too superhuman to feel, one of the people she swore to give her life to protect, hates her and wants her to die for … for … she doesn't even know. Her hearing is fuzzy and the world feels like it's shrinking and _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for whatever I've done to hurt you. Let them go after I die_. Though she knows he won't. Neither Kratchett nor Him. She knows she should get up and fight. Somehow. But she promised to protect them and save them and … and he shot her. Part her mind that hasn't completely caved in remembers a talking to one of the doctors that taught her how to do emergency first aid. She remembers learning about _shock_, the kind that makes you shut down when you're hurt, and wonders if that's what this is. She's been hurt this bad before. Been hurt worse. But never _like this_, not by a human armed with nothing but cleverness and hate. _MommyDaddy ... ButtercupBlossom ... RobinTheresa ... Iloveyou. Sorrysorrysorry ..._ She's run her race, and she lost.

"Get up," Robin whispers in her wavering perception, voice steady even if laced with pain and fear. "Bubbles, you gotta stand up for me." Bubbles focuses on the voice in spite of her lethargy. Even if she's about to die, Robin's trying to talk to her. She should listen. Her ears open up that much more, even as she filters out the sound of Kratchett's mad rambling and the cattle prod she can't feel. She hears Robin dragging herself over to the coffin Theresa must be in, then grabbing at the latches. "I'm gonna get her out of here, and then we'll take you to a doctor, and y-y-you'll be fine. You just gotta stand up, and stick with us a little longer." She throws the latches, and Bubbles can hear her raising the lid and clapping a hand over Theresa's mouth even as she starts to scream. "Shh, _quiet,_ Theresa. K-Kratchett will hear you unless you whisper. You gotta help me into my chair without him noticing, then find the car keys he left in the car. You can be my feet when we drive Bubbles to the hospital, okay? We can't do this without you." Her breathing is ragged, but her voice is calm and determined and Bubbles feels something warm inside even as the cold of blood loss tries to sweep over her completely. Bubbles hears Theresa nod. "Yeah, okay. Good." Her whisper changes tones a bit, and Bubbles knows Robin is talking to her again. "Kratchett's lost it, Bubbles, and after he nabbed us he wouldn't shut up about what he was gonna do to you. I - we won't let him, okay? You, me, and Theresa," Robin's begging now, Bubbles can hear tears in her voice. "_We won't._" She takes a deep breath and stifles a moan as Bubbles hears her broken ribs shift. A sudden spark of hot anger shoots through her, and she grabs at it, holding tight. Her mind begins to clear. Robin needs her. Theresa needs her.

Robin is whispering again, pleading. "You haven't done anything wrong. You can save us from monsters and bad guys, but we've gotta do some of it ourselves. It's not on you if someone's so bitter and hateful that they - t-they - Bubbles, you gotta stay. We - your mom and dad and sisters and Theresa and me - we love you, and we'll never use you and blame you and hurt you when things go bad, no matter what anyone else does. Not ever. We'll win, and this'll be over, and we'll be happy. But you gotta stand up, first. _Stand up, Bubbles._" Bubbles hears Theresa get the wheelchair up and unfolded, and try to help as Robin pulls herself into it._ "Please._ Let's go home."

_She's right,_ Bubbles thinks, willing the shock away. _Humans can hate, and hurt just as bad as any monster, but … we love, too. Mommy and Daddy and Blossom and Buttercup and Theresa and Robin all love me, and it's _real_, in spite of Kratchett, and the ones who killed Ace, and all the rest. Love makes the whole world go 'round, and it's worth dying for. But it's much, much more worth living for._

Bubbles takes a deep breath, in spite of one of her lungs being half full of blood, and gathers up all the pain in her shoulder and chest and rolls it into a tight little ball and tosses it aside, 'cause it doesn't really matter. She flattens her palms against the dirt, and begins to push.

Her name is Bubbles Claire Utonium. She loves the whole world, and everything in it. She loves her family, most of all, and she'll protect them always, just like they'll protect her. And even though it's full of evil and pain and people who hurt other people every second of every day, she'll watch over the world, always. Because someone should. Because she can. It's really not more complicated than that.

She's still bleeding, and it still hurts, and she's still kind of dying, but that doesn't stop her from blowing Kratchett over with a gust of wind that sends him slamming bonelessly into a broken tree. She's not dead yet. She pulls one of her knees up until she's got a foot flat on the ground, as she hears Robin and Theresa whooping and hugging and running (rolling) towards her. Theresa's shaking hands grab her under the arms, and Robin's taking her hands in her own (soft, but strong and calloused in ways completely different than Bubbles') and pulling, explaining how they're gonna drive back into town with Kratchett's car until they can find someone who can help (even though Bubbles already heard all this), and all she has to do is make it to the car and everything will be fine.

Bubbles stands up.


End file.
